#??? why phrase it like that and put it into the steam description. help

[von-valancius]

fascinating tidbit from the avowed steam page

[helliontherapscallion]

Scientia Potentia Est (Adrenaline Junkie Part 10)

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3     Part 4     Part 5     Part 6     Part 7     Part 8     Part 9     Part 11     Part 12     Part 13     Part 14     Part 15     Part 16     Part 17

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: slight PTSD, mentions of death/dying, some description of injury/scars, slight panic attack

Word count: 2,734

(A/N): how are yall liking the story so far? 

You were woken up by the obnoxious chirping of various songbirds right outside your window. Cracking open your heavy eyes, you glanced at the clock on your wall. 7 AM. You only got about an hour of sleep. Great. 

Groaning, you reluctantly left the beckoning warmth of your comfortable blanket cocoon and stretched out your limbs. You stood up and trudged towards your luggage that laid haphazardly in the corner of your childhood room. Awkwardly twisting your body around to take off the sensors attached to your back and sliding off the prosthetic, you put it on your bed. Pulling out a random shirt and pants without giving them any real thought, you shambled off to the bathroom to shower and preen your wing. 

You stood under the warm running water for a while just doing nothing but trying to wake yourself up. The steam drifted idly throughout the room as you stepped out of the shower and finished your morning routine. You still felt dead inside even after your refreshing shower. Is this what Philza felt like in the mornings? Is this what death feels like? Oh wait. You already knew what dying felt like, you’ve died twice already and you had the scars to prove it. 

The scar on the right side of your back remained prominent and very noticable, but it faded slightly around the edges. The other scar that stretched across your cheek and stretched down to your stomach was new. They were red and raised. You remembered how you got them like it was yesterday. You, your brothers, your nephew, and Tubbo were following Eret still celebrating your win. You all completely trusted him, he was your teammate after all. Trusting him was a mistake. It was foolish. That power hungry bastard blew up everything you and your brothers built and worked for. He was a traitor to L’manberg. Everyone present lost a life in the explosion.

You shuddered, remembering the explosion. You remembered the feeling of extreme heat on your skin and the deafening boom that left a ringing in your ears. You remembered laying on the ground several feet away from your brothers’ corpses. You were the last to die that day. Everything hurt as you laid there slowly bleeding out from the deep gash running from under your eye to your midsection. The plumes of smoke floated up towards the sunny sky as everything burned around you. You hoped you would suffocate from smoke inhalation before you would bleed out again. The flames licked at your skin, almost taunting you with your oncoming death. Why couldn’t you have died instantly like everyone else? Why did you always have to die painfully?

A soft knock snapped you out of your thoughts. Looking down, you realized that you were clutching the side of the sink so hard that your knuckles were turning white. 

“(Y/n), are you in there?” It was Arthur. What was he doing up so early?

You wiped at the tears that had gathered in your eyes and cleared your throat. “Y-yeah buddy. I’ll be out in a second.”

You turned on the water faucet and splashed some cold water in your face. It somewhat worked for the blotchiness and redness, but your eyes were still puffy. You were just going to have to get out of the bathroom and pray that Arthur and Philza won’t notice. You took a deep breath and opened the door. There Arthur stood looking at you happily.

“What’re ya doing up so early bud?”

“My brother said that I’m a morning person.”

Brother?

Despite your confusion, you did your best to grin at him. “Well, early bird, do you wanna help me make breakfast?”

His eyes lit up with excitement and he jumped up and down slightly. “Yes please! I love cooking, Mama and Papa would always let me help!”

Oh, you absolutely hated not knowing something. You needed to have that chat with him as soon as you could. 

You smirked. “C’mon then, lets go get started!”

He sprinted down the hallway and towards the stairs. You felt a slight panic flare up inside of you. “Arthur, please don’t run down the stairs!”

To your great relief, he listened and slowed down to a brisk walking speed. You speedwalked over to him. For someone so little, he was surprisingly fast. By the time you reached the bottom of the stairs, he was already in the kitchen. 

In the kitchen, Philza was sitting at the table with a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. As per usual, he looked like he’d rather go back to sleep. You walked over to the coffee maker and poured yourself a cup, you were going to need it. Philza’s tired eyes followed you as you poured the steaming liquid into your mug.

“Tired?” His voice was raspier and deeper than usual.

“Yeah, didn’t get much sleep last night.” You sipped at the bitter drink before wrinkling your nose and stirring in an ungodly amount of sugar. Sipping it again, you sighed in content. That was much better. 

You walked to the chest and pulled out some bacon strips, eggs, and bread. Setting them on the counter, you turned to Arthur. He was standing on his tiptoes trying to clearly see over the counter. You chuckled, pulling a chair out from the table and dragging it over to him so he could stand on it. 

“Don’t get too excited kid, we have to wash our hands first. Then we can get to the fun part.”

Arthur scrambled over to the sink, pulling his chair along with him. Though he was extremely excited, he actually took the time to properly wash his hands. Once you both were clean, you both got to cooking. You let him scramble the eggs and butter the toast while you did the rest of the work. You didn’t want him to get burned, especially by the bacon grease. 

Cooking was quickly done with Arthur’s help and before you knew it, breakfast was already halfway done. Over the course of eating, Philza was slowly waking up and adding his own input into the conversation. You were hardly paying attention when Arthur asked you a question.

“Hey, (y/n), where’s your wing?” 

“Hm?”

“The fake one.”

Your eyes widened. Shit, you forgot to put it back on after your shower. You suddenly felt every single little touch on your amputated wing. The chair, a light breeze from the open window, the brush of feathers from your complete wing, everything. You felt vulnerable and naked without it on. You felt powerless. 

“Oh, I- must’ve forgot to put it back on again. Excuse me.”

You stood up from your chair, a screech resounding from the legs scratching against the floor. Taking care of your half-eaten breakfast, you tried to hurry up to your room as fast as you could scolding yourself the entire way for being so forgetful. So stupid. 

You locked the door behind you and saw your silver wing laying on your bed staring at you, as if taunting you for leaving it behind. You rushed to put it back on. Though you felt your muscles tense up because of the sudden cool, it felt incredibly relieving to have your wing back on. You felt whole. 

You awkwardly twisted around to fasten the leather belts around the base of your amputated wing and attach the sensors back onto specific spots on your back where your flight muscles were. You put one on your deltoid, one on your trapezius, one on both teres muscles, one on your infraspinatus, and lastly two on your latissimus dorsi muscle. It usually took you at least thirty minutes of testing the prosthetic’s movements and moving the sensors around slightly to get the placement of the sensors exactly correct, so you assumed that breakfast was over and done with ten minutes ago. 

Your wing was finally connected and fully functional, so you left your room in search for Arthur. You eventually found him in the basement in your old workshop looking through your filing cabinet of blueprints. He mustn't have heard you come down the stairs because he didn’t react. He just kept looking through your old papers, pulling a few out and putting them on a nearby crafting table. 

“Arthur?”

He jumped, the paper he was in the middle of pulling out slipped back into its place inside the filing cabinet. He didn’t turn around to face you at first, so you thought that he was just trying to catch his breath from your little scare. Feeling bad, you walked closer and put a tentative hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry for scaring you. What’re ya doin?”

“I-I’m looking at your old inventions, Philza let me come down here to look at them while he tried to find me more clothes I could wear that fit.”

“Buddy, you should’ve waited until I put my wing back on, I could’ve shown you my prized inventions.”

He looked down to his feet. “I’m sorry (y/n), I just really wanted to see them and you were taking so long. I couldn’t wait.”

You frowned, putting a finger under his chin and making him look at you. You saw guilt darkening his eyes. “Arthur, never say sorry for wanting knowledge. Knowledge is perhaps our greatest weapon against the unknown in the universe. I want you to remember the phrase ‘scientia potentia est’.”

He sniffled. “Scientia… potentia est?”

“Yes, it means ‘knowledge is power’. Knowledge and power are two very… wide subjects, which is why I like the phrase. In a way, it means that you could pull off anything with knowledge. A lot of inventors live by that motto. Personally, it’s a motto that I swear by. Having knowledge gets me out of a lot of sticky situations,” you kindly smiled at him. “Now, do you want me to show you how my prosthetic works? I could even show you the first prototype if you’d like.”

To your delight, the smile that you often saw him wearing quickly returned and he nodded vigorously. You could get used to people wanting to know how your inventions work and why they worked the way that they did. You spent the next two hours explaining and answering questions about your prosthetic. You let him hold and examine your old leather wing. You showed him how the sensors were placed and warned him that if they were even very very slightly off, the wing wouldn’t work right. You even let him craft a sensor with you. 

“So, do you have any interest in being an inventor when you grow up?”

“Yes, I wanna be just like you! You’re like, the bestest inventor ever!”

You took a deep breath, kneeling in front of him and placing your hands on his shoulders. “Arthur, would you like to become my protégé?”

He scrunched up his face and squinted his eyes in confusion. “Your what?”

You lightly laughed. “Do you know what an apprentice is?” He shook his head. “Well, I want to take you under my wing. Teach you everything I know.”

His eyes comically stretched and his mouth gaped open and closed like a fish out of water. If it were possible, you’d imagine stars shining in his eyes. “You’d do that?”

“Naturally. You’re perhaps the most ambitious person I’ve ever met in terms of your goals, and at such a young age too. I’ve never met anybody besides fellow innovators that actually wants to know how my inventions are made. It’s refreshing in a sense. Would you accept me being your mentor?”

“I- yes! Yes, yes! A million, no, a billion times yes! Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” He cheered, squealing with delight and jumping up and down. 

You laughed. “Woah there bud, cool your jets. We have work to do, but first…” you sighed. You really didn’t want to ruin his moment, but you needed to talk to him about this if he were to become your apprentice.

He cocked his head to the side, eyes still wide with excitement. “First what?” “First… we need to talk. About your story, I mean.”

“What do you mean? We are talking.”

“No, not like that. We need to talk about your family. And how you want me to help you with The Warden.”

He visibly deflated, you didn’t think it was possible for someone to change moods so quickly. It was almost unnatural how fast he switched emotions. “Oh… Do we have to?”

“Yes, Arthur. We have to trust each other if we’re gonna work together.”

He shifted on the balls of his feet and fiddled with his thumbs. He looked very anxious to talk about his family.

“If you want, I can show you where I go to relax and think. Would you like that?”

He nodded and wiped at his eyes. You grabbed his hand and led him up the stairs. Since Philza was out, you wrote him a little note and put it on the table where he should see it right away if he came back before you two. You grabbed your satchel and filled it with two glass vials of water, a few snacks, and a blanket. Arthur just stared at you confusedly. 

You led him outside and hesitated. Should you ask him if he wanted to fly? It would be a lot faster to get there. “Arthur, would you like to fly there? I know it’s scary, but once you get used to it it’s so much fun!”

He reluctantly nodded, so you bent over and wrapped your arms around him to pick him up. You felt him tense up as you prepped for take off. “Hold on tight, I promise I won’t drop you.”

You pushed yourself off from the ground with a powerful flap of your wings causing Arthur to shriek in surprise. You and Arthur shot into the sky at a moderate speed. When you steadied yourself high above the treeline, you looked down at the boy in your arms. He had his eyes tightly closed and he was shaking slightly. “Arthur, you can open your eyes now.”

You watched as he peeked one of his eyes open and looked at you, you smiled encouragingly at him. “Go ahead, look around.” He observed his surroundings with caution before he opened his other eye. He was looking around in amazement, taking in every single detail from a bird’s eye view. You snorted before redirecting your attention back to flying. You needed to pay attention, especially when you had a passenger that would carry on your legacy after you die. 

The flight went by with Arthur giggling at various mobs below and sometimes pointing out something he thought was interesting to you. Your destination was now several meters ahead of you. Landing, you set Arthur down steadying him when he stumbled a little.

You took out the blanket and spread it across the grassy ground, smoothing it out. You beckoned Arthur to sit down next to you on it and you two overlooked the boundless expanse of the grassy plains. 

“This is where I came up with most of my inventions. It’s where I first tested my prosthetic. There’s where I jumped off.”

“How’d you know it worked?”

“I didn’t before I tested it. Looking back, it was stupid of me to do. Never, ever, do what I did.”

“What if-”

“No what if’s. Consult me before you test out anything dangerous in the future. I mean it, Arthur.”

“But I want to be like you.”

“Trust me kid, you don’t wanna be exactly like me. Besides, you’re you. You’re not (y/n) Minecraft. You’re Arthur Fox. You’re your own person and it’s important for you to understand that. Never let anyone take that away from you.”

He fell silent as he contemplated your words. You assumed that nobody’s ever told him that before, both due to his young age and potential lack of adult figures in his life. 

“Artie, you can tell me about your life when you’re ready. Take as much time as you need, we still have half the day left before we have to start heading back.”

He wordlessly nodded, turning his gaze to stare blankly past the cliff. In the meantime, you would wait patiently until he felt comfortable telling you.

Taglist (comment if you want to be added): 

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[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Telegrams & Teacups

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader (Enola Holmes)

Warnings: None.

Summary: Your morning was normal until you received a telegram from your friend Sherlock Holmes with a simple request: help him find Enola.

A/n: This tiny idea had me so obsessed that it’s all I’ve been writing for the last few hours! I have no regrets <3

You had just poured yourself a cup of tea and set it down on the small table by the armchair when there was a knock at the door.

How peculiar. You thought to yourself. 

Crossing the room, you turned the handle and propped open the panel of wood to see who your guest was and was met with a man from the post office holding in his hands a beige envelope.

“Telegram for (Y/n).” He explained. You confirmed your identity and were handed the papered item bidding the gentlemen a good day.

With a swift closing of the door, you leaned against it and opened the letter, recognising initials of S.H on the bottom right corner. Sherlock had told you that he was leaving to attend to a personal matter in the country yesterday morning so if he sent a priority telegram to you, then there must have been a development in the case.

Unfolding the paper, you read the message and learnt that he requested your assistance in locating his sister Enola Holmes who he suspected to be in London and that he would be back in the city later that afternoon. At the bottom of the letter there were the words ‘URGENT’ and a short series of words describing the girl scrawled rather messily, no doubt belonging to his brother Mycroft who was constantly teetering on the edge of patience.

You glanced over at the teacup still sending swirls of steam into the air and sighed - your drink would have to wait. Grabbing your coat from its stand, you hastily put it on and dashed out the door. 

When you stepped out onto the street, you remembered Sherlock once mentioned having a sister that he had not contacted in years. It was a simple remark that he let slip when he had his guard down around you - it didn’t happen often and he had caught himself before opening up to emotion. A trait that you had come to accept.

Focusing back on finding the youngest Holmes sister, Sherlock had told you of the station that she would have gotten off at. A station name was all you needed because as it turned out, you were rather gifted at getting into people’s minds and predicting the footsteps that they had taken and ones that they were likely to take next.

From the way Sherlock had explained the situation in the letter to Mycroft’s hasty emotion-driven description, you could tell that Enola was on the run to escape her brothers and a young girl out of place, who wanted to stay hidden, would have to blend into the crowd.

Your feet brought you to the first dress shop on the street from the station. Peering through the window, you noticed that the shop owner was counting a large wad of cash that seemed to be suspiciously ‘earned’ by an otherwise empty and ragged looking store. Your eye also caught the clothing rack of beautiful dresses and the empty hangers by the window. 

‘Unrefined’ was one of Mycroft’s choice words and it seemed that Enola was clever enough to use his descriptions to her advantage.

Stepping back from the shop, you looked around the busy and bustling streets. Dressed like a lady, the young girl would be in need of accommodation, therefore she would have asked the shopkeeper for suitable lodgings to avoid wandering the streets aimlessly.

As if on cue, the dressmaker walked out of her shop and made her way across the street. Letting your instincts lead, you followed at a safe distance with a casual stride so as to not arouse suspicion. In a matter of minutes after turning a few streets and across empty passages, you had tracked the shopkeeper to what looked like a lodging of some kind on the edge of a suburb.

It was not terrible but would definitely keep one out of sight. Walking in, you introduced yourself as an acquaintance of Sherlock Holmes and inquired about Enola. The bookkeep nodded and immediately led you up a narrow set of stairs before approaching a room and knocking on the door.

“Young Miss. You have a visitor.” They announced. You heard a small shuffle of feet from inside and the door creaked open to reveal and young girl with big brown eyes. She seemed to have recognised you, stepping to the side to let you in. She closed the door and turned around.

“I know who you are.” She said boldly with a fresh air of confidence that was not to be expected from someone so young. “You work for my brother, Sherlock.”

Looking around at the little space, newspapers scattered over the bed, you smiled at Enola’s phrasing.

“Actually I work with him - on the occasion.” You corrected wheeling back around to the girl who folded her arms.

“Why are you here?”

“A telegram from your brother.”

Enola frowned and shook her head. “Well, I won’t return home so they can ship me off to some home for girls to be oppressed into this world.” She looked at you and realised that you dressed in the typical London style like everyone else that she had come across and added a small, “No offence.”

“Believe me, I am not a person of societal rules. I wear no hat and no gloves, and my neighbour - your brother - usually has me wound up in one of his most outrageous cases.” You explained with a small laugh. “Mycroft only tolerates my so-called ‘embarrassing presence’ because Sherlock insists.”

Your words seemed to have reached the young girl from the way her posture fell more relaxed.

“So, you won’t take me to my brothers?” She asked and you couldn’t help but chuckle while shaking your head.

“No. Mycroft called you wild and unladylike in my telegram but as I stand here before you, I don’t see any of it. You’re remarkable and we’ve only met.”

Enola sighed with some relief that she was not going to be dragged away and smoothed out her dress before looking up at you. “Thank you.” She said politely.

You had completed the task of finding Enola Holmes as requested and bid your farewell to the young girl but not before reminding her to reach out to you if she needed assistance. While she appeared to be very bright and capable, the city had its dangers concealed as innocence.

Leaving the lodging, you trekked back home, picking up a loaf of bread from the wheat merchant for dinner. It had been a long day and you were ready to sit back and enjoy a fresh cup of tea given that the one you had made earlier would have likely gone cold.

At the door, you balanced the paper bag against your hip and turned the key to unlock your place of residence. This time when you walked in, you discovered that you weren’t alone - Mycroft was pacing by the fireplace while Sherlock had taken a seat in your armchair with a newspaper in his face.

“Has nobody told you that it’s incredibly rude to show up in a person’s home unannounced?” You wondered letting the door fall to a close behind you. Sherlock smirked behind the paper at your comment as he turned the page. Mycroft stepped in your direction and your eyes darted up to see the scowl beneath his moustache.

“What I find to be rude is that you took it upon yourself to be entertained with such trivial actions instead of carrying out the simple task of finding our sister.” He snapped, gesturing to the bread in your hands. His sharp tone of cold authority once intimidated you, but each encounter had you grow bold, refusing to be tread on by the man.

“A task so simple that she managed to elude your brilliant mind?” You questioned with a small purse of your lips and tilting your head ever so slightly to accentuate your sarcasm. “If that isn’t an embarrassment to the name of Holmes, I don’t know what is?”

It was like you had struck the man physically as his walking cane was suddenly pointed at you with warning.

“Watch your tone, (Y/n). I can make your life exceedingly difficult.”

You held your ground against the man and smiled back. “Just being in my presence is difficult enough.”

His jaw clenched; the eldest Holmes brother pulled his cane back to his side refusing to entangle in a pointless argument. Head high, he scoffed and grumbled about how disappointing you were and why Sherlock kept you around as he exited the apartment.

Thankful that he was gone, you walked over to the small table by the window and set the bread down before picking up scattered pieces of paper.

“I take it that you found her.” Sherlock inquired from where he sat.

“Of course. She’s quite well hidden.”

“You didn’t tell Mycroft.”

Turning around, you crossed the room to the fireplace to place a few stray envelopes on the mantelpiece. “I don’t believe I owe him an answer after he broke into my home like some common thief.”

Sherlock set the newspaper down and watched you, “And yet, you’ve let me stay.” He said curiously.

You dusted your hands and glanced over your shoulder, shooting him a playful, almost-teasing smile.

Taking that for your answer, the famed detective stood up and placed the newspaper back from where he first retrieved it. You had finished up and noticed that he was on the border of leaving too.

“I take it that you won’t tell me of her location either?” He surmised, tugging a little on his coat to straighten it out.

With a small laugh, you walked past him and patted his chest. “You might be more agreeable than your brother, but I have no desire to make your job easy, Sherlock.” You told him kindly. “I’ll keep Enola in my sights and hidden until you catch up.”

That’s when you saw it, sitting on the armchair table was your teacup from that morning except, instead of being filled with a cold liquid, it was hot and steaming. Frowning, you turned to Sherlock who was by the door, smiling at your bewildered expression.

“You’ve had a long day. I’ll give you some time to catch up.” He winked and stepped out, disappearing behind your front door.

Masterlist here

[unholyobsessions]

Welcome to my dorm

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Warnings: eight year age difference. Mentions of kidnapping

Description: the FBI question you about your friend’s disappearance and you can’t help feeling for a certain doctor. (Inspired by scene above)

Part 2 -- Part 3 -- Part 4 There was heavy knocking on your door. You rolled over, burying your face deeper in the pillow. “Y/n l/n this is the FBI open up!” You let out a groan followed by a dry laugh. “Real funny Danny now let me sleep,” you yelled loud enough for who you assumed was your friend Danny to hear. The knocking continued, pissing you off. You let out a huff reaching over to your nightstand to put on your glasses and climbed out of your bed. “Damn it Daniel seriously if you don’t knock it off I swe-“ you opened the door and the words died in your throat. 

Two very attractive men were standing in front of you holding FBI badges up. You saw them eye you up and down which prompted you to look down at yourself. You felt heat rush to your face as you took in the loose booty shorts and bralette you were wearing. Both men put their badges away and stood awkwardly at the door. You snapped out of your embarrassed daze and cleared your throat. “I am not wearing the appropriate clothes for this. Come in.” You stepped out of the way and headed to your closet to grab a random sweatshirt, pulling it over your head. Once you were no longer exposed you turned to face the agents that were now letting their gazes wonder around your dorm room. You found yourself thanking past you for taking the time to clean it two days ago. When they realized that you were now fully dressed the dark skinned man spoke. “We are sorry to bother you this early, I’m Agent Derek Morgan and this is Dr. Spencer Reid and we need to ask you some questions.” The man who you now identified as Agent Morgan gestured to the tall curly haired man next to him. You smiled gently at both of them before pointing to the two chairs by the desk. “Questions regarding what, Agents?” You asked them as they sat down. “The disappearance of Haley Bowen. She went to school here.” This time it was Dr. Reid that spoke. Your eyes widened, you knew her. “Oh my God okay.” You took a deep breath, your brain not really knowing how to react. “Umm do you guys want coffee? I can’t really function without caffeine in the morning so I’m just going to make a pot.” You changed the subject quickly. Your friend was missing and the agents needed your help. You cannot break down. “No thank you.” Agent Morgan answered at the same time as Dr. Reid said, “Yes please.” You sent him a smile and started preparing the coffee. Morgan gave Reid a look and he shrugged as if to say ‘hey, coffee is coffee.’ “How do you take your coffee? Personally I take mine with too much sugar and too much creamer because I don’t really enjoy the taste of coffee but I’m still kind of addicted to it. Which my friends say makes me insane but I actually think it’s pretty normal. The taste is too bitter, reminds me of dark chocolate,” you stopped yourself. “Sorry I’m rambling I tend to do that in uncomfortable situations.” You looked at Dr. Reid expectantly and it took him a second to realize that you were waiting for his answer. “Oh uh three teaspoons.” He gave a small nod at the sugar in your hand. You smiled widely at him, seemingly glad that you were not the only one to enjoy overly sweet coffee. She’s cute, Spencer found himself thinking. After stirring sugar into both cups you walked over to the agents and handed one of the cups to Dr. Reid. Seeing as there were no more available chairs, you hopped on your desk and sat criss cross facing them. “So why are you asking me about Haley?” You took a long sip of your coffee. “She was last seen at the bar you work at.” Agent Morgan spoke but you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off Dr. Reid. He’s cute, you thought. “So she disappeared on Saturday?” You let out a sigh. “You remember seeing her?” This time Reid spoke making direct eye contact with you. You nodded. “She was a regular so we became friends over time. She comes in every weekend to blow off steam. She’s double majoring so she has a lot on her plate. She sits at the bar. Same place every time so I’m always her bartender.” Both Agents nodded at the information given, internally relieved that this interview could result in a lead in the case. “Did you notice anything different about her that night? Anybody that tried to approach her or payed more attention to her?” Dr. Reid asked you. “Well she seemed nervous. She talks to me a lot, rants about her professors and stuff like that. She didn’t talk much on Saturday and she seemed restless. Fidgeting in her seat and playing with the rings on her fingers. I just assumed she was meeting a guy and that’s why she was nervous. I pay attention to her, she gets drunk often and all of the workers like to make sure that nobody too drunk walks home alone or leaves with someone they are uncomfortable with. Whenever she was uncomfortable with a guy trying to make a move on her she played with her rings. That’s when I knew to intervene.” You took a deep breath and a gulp of your coffee, burning your tongue in the process. You felt tears pooling in your eyes and you did your best to blink them away. “Did you see a guy approach her that night?” Again it was Dr. Reid who asked the question, his voice softer this time. You hesitated before answering trying your hardest to remember. “There was this one guy,” you paused, letting your mind wander back to Saturday night. “He wasn’t drunk like most people there. He talked to her while he waited for me to serve him his drink. He got a coke which was strange for someone who was clearly sober to order. I recognized his face but couldn’t place a name. I turned around to serve another group and when I turned back the guy was walking away and Haley was asking for her check. She wasn’t drunk, barely tipsy so I didn’t insist on calling her a cab. Damn it why didn’t I call her a cab?” You couldn’t stop the tears anymore. This was your fault, you should have made sure she got home safely, you should have called her at least. She was your friend and now she could be dead and it will be your fault. Sobs racked your body, your half empty coffee cup slipping from your fingers and shattering on the floor, the sound only making you cry harder. Morgan instinctively reached for your hand the words of comfort ready to be spoken. He was stopped when Reid leaned toward you and grabbed your hand away from your face. He gave it a small tug to make you look at him. He didn’t know what came over him at that moment. He didn’t shake hands and didn’t really touch people but all he knew was that he wanted you to stop crying and he never wanted to see you sad again. “Hey it’s not your fault.” His voice was soft but firm. “There was no way for you to know what would happen and you had no way to stop it. What you told us right now is extremely helpful and will help us bring Haley back home. Okay?” You gave a small nod of your head trying to calm yourself down. “It’s okay just breath with me.” Dr. Reid took a deep breath and you mimicked him continuing until your breathing was back to normal and only a few stray tears were running down your cheeks. “Thank you.” You sniffled and smiled shyly at him. “Would you mind coming down to the station later and giving a description of the man you saw with Haley to a sketch artist?” Dr. Reid looked you in the eyes, his deep look telling you that although it was phrased as a question it was really the only choice you had. “Yeah that’s okay.” You wanted to reach up and rub at your runny nose but you noticed that he was still holding your hand. He felt the slight movement and realized as well. The both of you blushed and averted eye contact while Agent Morgan looked at the two of you with an amused expression. Both Agents stood up signaling that they were prepared to leave. You lead them to the door and they both thanked you for your time. Before you closed the door Dr. Reid handed you his card telling you to call him if you remember anything else that might seem important. You nodded at him, not trusting your voice. You gave him a wide smile which contrasted with your red teary eyes but he still felt the breath being knocked out of him. After the door closed Morgan looked at Reid. “What was that?” Spencer played dumb and started down the dormitory hallway. “What was what?” He pushed the door to the stairs open and looked back at Morgan. “What do you mean ‘what was what’ you were totally into that girl.” Morgan grinned at him and Spencer felt his cheeks heat up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Spencer started down the stairs, making a point to ignore Morgan’s laughter. • • • A few hours later you had taken a shower and put your contacts on. You put on a light face of make up and decided that this time when you met the agents you would be fully clothed so you put on a pair of jeans and a white tank top with a loose button up over it. You slipped on a pair of converse and headed to the police station. You walked up to the front desk and smiled lightly at the woman sitting behind it. “Hi I’m looking for Dr. Reid he told me I was coming in for a sketch.” The woman nodded and gestured someone over. You waited patiently as the two had a conversation and eventually Dr. Reid came into view. You smiled at him and it grew when he gave you a grin back. He guided you through the police station with a hand placed firmly on your back his hand pressing harder when one of the men in the holding cell wolf whistled at you. He brought you to a room where a sketch artist was sitting there waiting. “Here you go.” He mumbled under his breath. “Thank you.” You sat down as Reid left the room. You talked to the sketch artist for about 45 minutes trying to give as much detail as possible. You looked at your watch and noticed your afternoon shift at the bar was starting soon. You quickly thanked the artist and made a quick exit in hopes of not being late. You speed walked all the way to the bar and got there just in time to see the morning bartender ready to leave his shift. He sent you a tight lipped smile as you settled yourself behind the bar. The place was empty except for the man sitting at the bar who looked to be nursing a glass of whiskey. A few minutes later you heard the door ring signaling someone coming in. “Be right with you,” you called as you refilled the man’s glass. He was mumbling something about a cheating girlfriend which made you wince slightly. People dealing with heartbreak at a bar never ended well. You turned around to greet the costumer who had just taken a seat at the bar. Your eyes widened in surprise when you saw Dr. Reid sitting there with a sheepish smile on his beautiful face. “Dr. Reid what can I do for you?” He looked down for a second before making eye contact. He’s nervous, you thought. “I just needed to clear my head for a bit and I wanted to take a look at the scene and try to get a sense of what happened that night.” You nodded your head before giving him your signature smile. “Well can I get you something? I’m not going to offer anything alcoholic since you are still on the job but I do make a mean Arnold palmer.” You sent him a subtle wink, reaching under the bar for a glass. He snorted before accepting your offer. Setting the prepared drink in front of him, you spared a glance at the sulking man to find him slumped in his seat with light snores leaving his mouth. Damn, you thought, this is going to be a slow shift. You turned your attention back to the Dr. who was looking at you with a quirked brow having noticed the frown on your face. You quickly explained how you hated afternoon shifts because they usually consisted of you being bored out of your mind dealing with day drinkers. He struck up conversation to “relieve some of your boredom” as he so kindly put it. Conversation flowed extremely easy between the two of you, talking about anything and everything. From his experience in college to what your favorite song was at the moment. “I have a question,” he spoke after taking a bite of the french fries you had brought out at some point during the conversation. “I may have an answer. Ask away doc.” He smiled lightly at the nickname. “You’re a senior right?” You nodded your head, wondering where this was going. “So why do you still live in the dorms?” You let out a small laugh. “It’s part of my scholarship. I get free housing and I am also an RA.” He took a sip of his drink and mulled over the information. “Now it’s my turn. How old are you?” You told yourself it was an innocent question, that you held no ulterior motives other than curiosity.  His eyebrows rose before he set his glass down. “I’m twenty-nine. You’re twenty-one right?” “Yeah.” Eight years, you thought, not that big of a difference. You internally scolded yourself. You couldn’t be thinking that. He was here doing an investigation on your missing friend. He wasn’t thinking about picking up some random college girl who still lived in the school dormitories. 

Similarly, Spencer was having an internal battle about his feelings. He wanted to believe that what he was feeling was simple protectiveness over a witness, although it was pretty clear that you were not in any sort of danger. 

“So where do you live?” You asked in order to fill the silence that had taken place. “I live about and hour and a half away in D.C.” He felt the need to add the fact that he didn’t live far away from your current location.  “I’ve never been.” You said. He almost chocked on his drink. “You’ve never been to D.C.? But it’s so close!” Again with the proximity, could you be any more obvious? Spencer scolded himself.   “I know I know but I work most weekends and when I’m not working I’m studying so it is kind of hard to get free time.” I’ll take you. That is what he wanted to say. He had to stop before he made a fool out of himself. He didn’t know why he was feeling this way. Sure he has been attracted to plenty of girls before but you were different. You didn’t stop his ramblings about statistics and random facts that he had in his brain. You listened to him and sometimes even asked to him to elaborate more on a certain subject. You also tended to ramble like when he asked about your family, you went on a tangent about how your mom was your best friend and your younger sister had a dream of being a dancer. Or when he asked about your major and you went on to explain all the research you were doing. You were so passionate about everything you talked about. He smiled at the happiness in your eyes. They were still bloodshot from your breakdown this morning but they held so much happiness and hope that he couldn’t help but feel the same. He was about to reply when his phone rang and he realized he had been talking to you for over an hour. More than halfway to D.C., he thought. He answered it and heard Morgan’s voice telling him to head back to the station as they had found the name of the man who talked to Haley that night. “I uh- I have to go.” He gestured behind him to the door but he couldn’t bring himself to stand up yet. You nodded your head, slightly disappointed that he had to leave. You reached into your pocket and pulled out the card he gave you this morning, writing down your number on the back. “Call me if you find her. Please. Dead or alive I don’t care I just don’t want to find out from the news.” You handed him the card and he looked down at it. “Don’t you need my number if you need to call me? If you have more information that is.” He questioned. “Oh I already put it on my phone. Is that weird?” He looked at you with something that you couldn’t put your finger on. “No, not weird. Kind of cute actually.” He smiled down at you, having already stood up from the bar chair. You blushed and looked away from him. Your blush gave him a sudden surge of confidence. “Can I call you? Even if it isn’t about Haley. Can I just call you?” You smiled brightly at him. “Yes Dr. Reid you can call me.” “Spencer,” he said. You gave him a confused look. “Call me Spencer.” He took a step back heading to the door. “Spencer.” You tested the name on your lips, the smile never leaving your face. He grinned at you and walked out the door. • • • The next day you received a call from Spencer after your lecture. You smiled down at your phone before answering. “Spencer to what do I owe the pleasure?” “Hey y/n we found Haley.” Your heart stopped, the voice in your head praying for it to be good news. “She’s alive and being taken to the hospital.” A long breath left your lips as tears stung your eyes. She’s alive. She’s alive. Without thinking you hung up the phone and hurried to find a cab that could take you to the hospital. You payed the man quickly and took off after he pulled up to the curb. You saw Spencer with Agent Morgan and a woman you haven’t seen before but you assumed she was a part of their team. “She’s okay? Please tell me she’s going to be okay.” You started speaking as soon as you were within hearing distance of Spencer. As he soon as he saw you his eyes softened. “She’s in the ICU right now. They are setting her up and her mom is on the way.” He looked down at you and his heart broke at the tears that were making their way down your cheeks. “Oh thank god. Who was it? Was it the guy I-“ your voice broke before you could finish but Spencer understood what you wanted to ask. “Yeah it was. If it wasn’t for you remembering him it would have taken us a lot longer to find her. You saved her y/n okay?” He reassured you because he knew what you were thinking. It was written across your face. You could have stopped him. “You had no way of knowing. Don’t blame yourself.” He placed his hands on your shoulders as you nodded your head weakly. You leaned your head on his chest needing some sort of comfort from what you were feeling. He didn’t push you away. In fact he pulled you closer and let you cry, staining his shirt. Morgan and Prentiss gave each other a bewildered look because Spencer Reid did not hug. Much less strangers who were witnesses on a case. A doctor came into view and cleared his throat. “Haley Bowen,” he called out. You pulled away from Spencer and walked toward the doctor. “Yes?” He gave you a smile which you took to be good news. “She’s going to be fine. She has a concussion, bruised ribs and sprained wrists from being bound but I have no doubt that she will make a full recovery and be out of here in the next few days.” You let out a sigh of relief. “Can I see her?” The doctor shook his head. “Right now it is family only and I’ve been told her mother is not far but after she gets moved out of the ICU tomorrow you can come visit her at any time.” The doctor finished and walked away. You turned back to the three agents who were now looking at you. You felt awkward in their gaze so you locked eyes with Spencer. “Thank you Spencer really. I should go I have a class in about 40 minutes but hey don’t be a stranger.” You pointed an accusing finger at him and he let out a laugh. “Spencer?” Prentiss and Morgan mouthed to each other. “I won’t I swear. I’ll call you later?” He ignored the questioning looks his coworkers were sure to be giving him. “I’d like that. Maybe you can show me around D.C. sometime.” He smiled as he remembered their conversation yesterday. “Definitely.” You blushed, something that you found yourself doing a lot around him. “Bye Spencer.” “See you later y/n.” He watched you disappear from view before turning back to Morgan and Prentiss. “Okay what the hell was that?” Prentiss spoke up first. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He smiled innocently at both of them before walking away in search of coffee, ignoring his friend’s calls from behind him. He wondered if you would mind him calling you earlier than expected.

[scribbleseas]

The Indignant Pawn, Chapter VI: The Importance of Pluck

Description: You are Y/n Y/l/n- formerly known as Princess Helena, the runaway princess.

You're an assassin for hire who only agrees to find the worst of London's criminals at the business end of your knife; until a mysterious woman hires you to end the likes of Ciel Phantomhive, the King of the Underworld. You find yourself trading your weapons for your abandoned family crest in order to infiltrate his home as none other than Princess Marie-Louise, your twin sister. What's to happen when you find that the young Earl is more than a callous businessman?

OVERALL STORY WARNINGS: sexual assault, objectification, misogyny, death, detailed description of blood/gore, detailed description of murder, lying, impersonation, theft, weapons, detailed panic attacks and flashbacks, symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.

Author’s Note: Hi! Thank you so much for enjoying this story so far! I can’t wait to take you down this wild road with this cast of characters. As always, if you have any questions or concerns about the story warnings, please don’t hesitate to contact me! Please note that the warnings are subject to change by each chapter.

-Dan

⇠ PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ⇢

. . .

FEBRUARY 14TH, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

“Y/n!” Andrea’s calloused hands pulled you into a tight bear hug, causing you to stumble forward, uncoordinated by the sudden movement of the door and her springing towards you and Autumn. Reluctantly, you melted into the embrace from the sole reminder that this was the same woman that showed you the separation between your traumatic childhood and reclaiming this facade. Not to mention, a few phrases of conversational Spanish. 

“Buena noches, Andrea,” (Good evening, Andrea) you greeted halfheartedly, your foul mood having yet to completely subside from the front of your mind. Without Doña’s need to meddle, you never would have needed to leave the warmth of the guest quarters in the middle of the night in the first place. The mission was completely under your control- the objective remaining as crystal clear as it was on day one. Killing Lord Phantomhive was not nearly the challenge your subconscious was making it out to be.

“¿Dónde está Doña?” (Where is Doña?) You asked once Andrea released you and motioned towards the reins that you clutched in your hand. Asking for the location of a local stable would have been next on your course of action. However, she seemed to know exactly where to keep Autumn for the time being.

“Inside...still waiting for you. Diego will show you the way,” the woman gestured to the familiar man as he crossed his arms in the doorframe. The same playful smirk tugged at his lips, suggesting that he heard some kind of joke that he didn’t dare repeat. Andrea started off with Autumn in tow, the horse’s tail flicking back and forth lethargically.

“The dress hugs tight,” Diego commented patronizingly as he led you through the hall. You could tell by his comment that Diego was only trying to provoke your outrage, no matter how you tried to keep your face neutral. Of course, the dress fit your frame better- you were eating three meals a day alongside some form of an extravagant dessert. There was no shame in enjoying good food while it was available to you.

“You’re one to talk,” you glared at Diego’s back as he walked. His black trench coat was tied around his lean frame tightly, the bottom shifting with each step that he took. The outline of his gun holster was clearly fastened around his waist beneath the coat. There was nothing more ridiculous than the thought of a man like Diego having the morality to murder someone. But you supposed if that was the case, he wouldn’t affiliate with women such as Doña-  or yourself.

“Doña, she arrives,” Diego stopped short before a small living room. The vicinity was warmed by a tame fire in the fireplace, the orange hue painting the rest of the room. As the rest of the rooms were, this room was notably empty- save for two sofas and a single table between them. 

The lady herself, Doña, occupied the middle of one of the couches, nursing a rum-spiked coffee, her thin fingers wrapped around the thin stem of the glass. The scent of the over-proofed rum drifted about the room, causing you to cringe. You’d never understand why Spaniards preferred their coffee with hard liquor mixed in- according to Andrea, the combination was called a carajillo.

“Lovely,” Doña’s painted lips spread into a satisfied grin, the corners of her mouth pulling upwards. “Sit Y/n. Sit,” she said, patting the cushion next to her with a free hand. You made it a point to sit in the middle of the empty sofa across from her, your hands smoothing over your petticoats as you regarded the light ecru Doña wore. The majority of the top layer was made of tulle so to create a softer ambiance to oppose her burgundy lip color- such as a shade that was forbidden for royalty, or any self-respecting woman.

“I’ll go help Carmen with the...bebé,” Diego cringed as the sound of Doña’s wailing child sounded from the floor above. “Excuse me.”

“I haven’t all night, Doña,” you snapped impetuously as you watched the woman’s face, contemplative as she listened to her daughter sob. You heard Carmen seethe ‘¿Por qué no podemos ponerla en adopción ya?’ and in response, Diego only laughed. Andrea was still putting your horse away, but the sobbing would likely stop the second she entered the baby’s line of sight.

“If only you had the same sense of urgency in completing the mission I assigned a month ago,” Doña took a long drink of her carajillo, her face twisting at the taste. “Did you not guarantee me seven days at most?”

In a fit of haughtiness, you had made a claim that went something along those lines. After all, the longest you spent on one mission before this one, was waiting for the servant rotation of Agatha Tolton to switch in your favor. The woman was rarely alone and you preferred to only kill your targets during a mission.

“There are unforeseen obstacles inside the estate,” you lied. In truth, you spent plenty of time alone with the Earl- three meals a day and occasionally, time in the foyer at night. Hiding your dagger in the folds of a nightgown and stabbing him wasn’t out of your capabilities and yet, you were postponing it for the comfortable treatment- even if it was all stolen from Marie’s identity.

“Unforeseen obstacles in the estate,” Doña repeated, unfazed by your lie. “What sort of obstacles could possibly be new to you?”

“There’s something...uncertain about his butler,” this concern nagged the back of your mind from the moment you got there. From the second he greeted you in flawless German and subtly as each day passed on. Despite being the head butler of the estate, he was too capable at some points- always being prepared when you and the Earl requested tea or hot chocolate in the dead of night, answering questions that you purposely keep from saying. His speed.

“Sebastian Michaelis?” Doña’s frown deepened, making her look at least five years older. Creases from constant scowling marred the corners of her lips and between her symmetrical eyebrows. “We discussed his role in Phantomhive’s life. You said-” her accent butchered the Earl’s name, turning the i into an e, which resulted in his name sounding more like Phantomheave, rather than Phantomhive. 

“Doña, I’m aware of what I told you,” you hissed as she brought the flute of spiked coffee to her lips and drank again. “I said that he wouldn’t present an obstacle to my objective.”

“And yet?” She asked, goading your temper, tempting you to take the drink out of her hands and dump the rest of its steaming contents down her nightgown. Your fingers curled into fists, as you compelled yourself to stay seated on the couch. Your nails dug into the flesh of your palm, the sensation tolerable, but something to focus on, nevertheless.

“And yet, I’m reassessing my strategy because of him,” you lied. Sebastian made for a decent excuse, above all of his other uses.

A brief moment of silence passed before she asked, “must I eliminate him for you, Y/n? It would be a shame to need to aid my hired killer-...almost as distressing as wasting a handsome face such as his, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Looks have nothing to do with anything, Doña,” you ignored the turn of her curt grin while she finished off the rest of her carajillo with a sigh. She put the empty glass on the low table that sat in between the two of you, the bottom landing with a soft clink. “If I have to kill Sebastian Michaelis, I will do it myself.”

“We can share tactics with you,” Diego offered from the side of the room, where he and Carmen were standing. The baby had stopped wailing several minutes ago, moments after Andrea returned from putting your horse away. “You seem as if you need many,” he teased, sharing a patronizing laugh with Doña. At your glare, his face sobered, although a smile seemed to taunt the corners of his lips.

“Your tactics,” you scoffed, “what skill does it take to pull the trigger of a gun?” You could recall the weight of the handgun you had used at fourteen, successfully killing two men within minutes of each other. How could Diego pride his reliance on a weapon? 

“You bitch! You’ll, you’re going to bloody p--” James screamed, glowering at you as he struggled to get his fumbling hands in place. But he was too slow. He fell to the ground, blood beginning to blossom near his lower ribs.

“You’re a clever one, Princess,” Diego chuckled, showing the palms of his hands in defeat. “I might ask you for tactics for how you look so detached,” he quipped, shaking his shoulders to create an animated shiver. 

“Princesa de Hielo,” Carmen mumbled, which caused Doña to laugh again, the effects of rum beginning to seep into her cold personage. Her deep brown eyes settled back on you, hardening as you met her gaze. Eye contact was quite a fragile social concept- you weren’t confident with Spanish customs, but in Germany, it expressed attentiveness but in excess it expressed pride. 

“The two of you...go retrieve Y/n’s horse. She’s souring the atmosphere,” Doña shifted on the couch to turn her back to you, and the liquid in her glass flute hit the side and slid down again. There wasn’t much to the drink when you sat down in the first place and now, the glass was nearly empty.

Doña waited for Diego and Carmen to leave before she lazily got to her feet and stood before you, her expression sobering as if she hadn’t finished off her drink. With her proximity, you could smell the faint tinge of rum from her lips.  “And as for you- I want him dead. I don’t care how it’s done- simply finish him off and you’ll have your compensation. Do you understand?”

Her pupils were nearly swallowed whole by her umber irises, the threat in them ever-present.

. . .

FEBRUARY 15TH, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

Within the first few minutes of riding back to the Phantomhive Estate, snow began to fall, dropping from the clouds in fat flurries that rolled down your neck and made it nearly impossible to see fifteen feet in front of you. The wind whistled in your ears as you encouraged Autumn to continue her steady gait, even as the snow began to stick on the cobblestone streets of the city.

The distance from the manor to the heart of the city was sizable without the beginnings of a blizzard, but the horse’s hesitation, as well as your own, had severely delayed your arrival time. In fact, by the time you were scaling the wall of the manor, the sun was beginning to ascend the horizon, starting the day as the snow continued to pile and stick. Your fingers were numb since you had to remove your thick gloves to properly cling to the stones that jutted out of the main house’s foundation, leaving them vulnerable to the sharp surfaces and cold air. You were lucky that your quarters were located on the second floor, but that wouldn’t matter if Mey-Rin found the room empty upon entering to wake you.

The moment you reached the window beside your bed, you swung one leg over the still and then the other, reveling in the fact that you had, in fact, managed to return before Mey-Rin entered to wake you. Your trembling hands made messy work of tearing off the sides of the gown that were pinned to the stays on your coset, letting each piece of your riding habit fall carelessly to the floorboards until you were left standing in your corset that sat over your white shift- the base of any dress. Unlacing it was never this challenging when you sported middle-class clothing articles, leaving you to tug at the strands that kept the constrictive item together as several pairs of footsteps began to grow closer to the closed door of your quarters.

Your front teeth sunk into the inside of your lip as your descent into panic worsened with each passing second, fruitlessly attempting to untie the knots that you had secured yourself. Clearly, you had made some kind of mistake in re-dressing yourself prior to leaving for Doña’s new home.

This was exactly what you had feared.

“And you absolutely certain she isn’t here, Mey-Rin?” Sebastian’s posh voice questioned, moments before the door swung open, revealing you half-dressed and positioned in front of your open window. Mey-Rin and Sebastian were behind the Earl, the maid’s eyes glassy as if she was about to cry, and the butler’s face completely impassive, like a statue’s. Instantaneously, the Earl’s gaze fled to the ceiling, the floor, anywhere as long as it wasn’t on you.

Your hands fell to your sides and in the most delayed reaction, you exclaimed, “raus!” (out!). You turned your back to the doorway and hugged yourself.

“I believe she is far from missing, thank you,” the Earl’s voice was steadier than you would have anticipated, “my apologies, Your Highness,” the sound of rapid steps that implied his and Sebastian’s departure down the corridor followed as you released a weak exhale. 

“I came to wake you and you were missin’, yes you were,” Mey-Rin said . “I assumed the worst, I’m sorry Your Highness.” she asked for permission to undo the thick knots that you couldn’t undo. You nodded once, facing her as she nimbly undid each one. “The young master is going to want to know where you were off to...he was awfully concerned havin’ just returned from Lady Elizabeth’s…” if Mey-Rin wasn’t paid to fuss over you, you might’ve pitied her.

“I love the snow. I wanted to be outside on my own- I thought I could return before you notice I went out,” you explained, the lie was on the tip of your tongue from the moment you fell behind your plan. Mey-Rin breathed a sigh of relief and began to properly lace the corset and fasten a new stomacher, this one was a deep shade of red, resembling claret with its notes of magenta. The rest of the gown matched the shade.

“The snow is much prettier here in the countryside," Mey-Rin agreed as she continue to prepare you for the rest of the day; twisting your hair into another tight bun, brushes of powder over your face and shoulders and gentle hands of rogue on the apples of your cheeks. Within several strokes of a brush, your familiar blemishes disappeared- like a wave of a magic wand. 

Each step from your room to the main dining room maximized the nostalgic pit in your stomach. You sat to the Earl’s side at the breakfast table, as per usual. He was uncharacteristically quiet, leisurely lifting his steaming cup of tea to his lips and taking a long drink, his eye having yet to properly leave you. Lord Phantomhive did well to remind you of Governess Lydia and the countless instances you were scolded by the woman after an unbearably long silence. 

As a grown woman, you were too old for this. 

“Lord Phantomhive-” you started, only to be swiftly interrupted by the loud clunk that punctuated when he aggressively returned his teacup to its saucer on the table. Droplets of tea ran down the porcelain and pooled on the small dish. What waste.

His voice was fatally calm and as per usual, each word was punctuated to the syllable. “I am entrusted with your life, Your Highness. I thought it was clear that you aren’t to leave this estate unaccompanied without myself or Sebastian,” he said, “My duty to Her Majesty is to protect you to the extent of my capabilities and beyond that.”

“I was within the perimeter of this estate!” You countered, your hand pausing as you were about to spread a healthy bit of margarine over the head of a muffin,  that Sebastian had decapitated for you. Instead, the continent fell from the smooth blade of your knife in a heap before you began to spread it. “If that is your grievance with this morning, then your contention is certainly misplaced. It should not be a crime for me to wish to be outside. Alone.”

“Your Highness, there is a death threat over your head. Your going outside unaccompanied is a point of contention for me, yes,” the Earl said, as if this information should have been obvious. Granted it made logical sense- defenseless royalty needed to remain within lines of defense, however, you posed as a needy princess who was unacquainted with the concept of no. “If you are so fascinated with snow, a commonality in your home country, then you might wait to ask-”

��Thank you for your concern,” you intervened icily, aware that you had waged a losing battle from the moment you protested. “Keep in mind that it’s quite easy for the walls of this mansion to grow dull, My Lord.” 

. . .

FEBRUARY 17TH, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

The world outside of the windows was blank- completely grey and white. For the third day in a row, you were trapped indoors, hiding from the dense blizzard and idly roaming the layout of the estate. Every single room was familiar to you now- studied not once, but multiple times, making it simple for you to find the source of the rich violin that reverberated throughout the second floor of the mansion. Each step you grew closer to the frantic melody, vaguely aware of how clumsily you moved from the haste of your curiosity. The dramatic violin picked up, growing louder, steadier and more urgent the closer you came. The violin belonged to a special place within your battered heart- the noise caused goosebumps to erupt up and down your arms, despite the plentiful warmth that generated throughout the manor.

From under the closed door, a metronome prudently clicked away and your fingers immediately tapped against your petticoat in response, corresponding with it as your eyes stared into the painted wood of the door in front of you, your dominant hand resting on the gold knob.

One and a two, one and a two, one and a two...

The piece was executed flawlessly- until a new passage began and gradually fell behind the tics of the metronome and your fingers as they continuously tapped your skirt. It wasn’t long until the instrument abruptly paused, leaving the mansion to silence once again. 

“Your technique leaves much to be desired, which is why you fell behind. Perhaps a proper audience might motivate you, sir,” Sebastian suggested, his voice muffled by the door. You were in the process of turning back to the library to continue the book you had abandoned to stretch your legs, but instead, Sebastian opened the door behind you. 

“Your Highness, it would be a privilege for my master to entertain you with his most recent selection: J.S Bach’s Partita for Violin Solo,” Sebastian explained, forgoing his typical use of German, “it would be terribly rude to allow you to listen from outside as he would otherwise have it,” he said pointedly, showing you to a plush loveseat as the Earl stood, his violin and bow poised in hand while he glowered at the score on the music stand in front of him.

“I appreciate it,” you took the offered seat and watched as Sebastian started the metronome once again and pushed up his glasses, which seemed special to his role as a tutor. 

“Again, from the twelfth line. This time, perhaps watch your spiccato and left hand articulation- the aim is to hear every note unequivocally, yet remain up to speed,” Sebastian said, but you suspected that the Earl had properly tuned him out in order to prepare to lift the violin and prepare to play again. 

Your gaze was drawn to his fingers as they danced along the neck of the violin, pressing and moving every second with the tact of a seasoned player. In the light, the gems on his rings winked as the light’s perspective on them changed as he played. It was mesmerizing in a sense, watching the Earl focus on one task entirely. His eyebrows furrowed thoughtfully, drawing closer together during more difficult areas of the piece. You watched his expression remain the same during each time he ran through the section that Sebastian requested as he slowly worked through the tense parts until the butler excused himself in order to begin the preparations for supper. 

“Have you played for long?” you asked, watching as he loosened the string of his bow and began to wipe it with a small, neatly folded cloth. 

“About four years now, I believe,” he cautiously laid the bow and the violin to rest in their case. “Do you play?”

“No,” you said, without thinking. “I am much more partial to the harp- my sister played the violin,” you attempted to maintain the neutrality in your face upon recognizing your mistake. Marie was a mediocre violinist, which meant that the proper answer would have been ‘yes, but not quite so well’. Instead, you implied that Marie was a harpist and the missing, presumably dead princess played the violin. It was a fact that the royal family did not understand until you had left and there was no one playing the harp in the castle. However, it was not common knowledge that either princess had proficiency with the harp in the first place.

He wouldn’t catch such an inconspicuous mistake. 

“The harp,” Lord Phantomhive mused, as if the thought amused him. “Fitting, I reckon.”

Frankly, you couldn’t remember the last time you touched the delicate strings of a harp, the sensation of their vibrations against your fingertips. As a girl, it was the only outlet that you could express yourself without breaking any rules- for the most part, at least. 

. . .

The thick blankets of puffy snow on the ground made it so even the postage arrived late that evening, since roads leading to the countryside out of the city had yet to be cleared. Thus, the Earl flipped through the Westminster Review and you pretended to consciously read the English Woman’s Journal post-supper, between taking turns in a slow-moving chess game, rather than reading through the news at the breakfast table. 

You absentmindedly fiddled with the corner of the thin printed paper as you instead watched the Earl regard the ornate chess set that sat in the middle of you, his side black and yours white. For the second time that day, you were met with his face of complete thought and focus- even if the game was already won on his part. 

Frankly, the Earl was an aggressive player and you weren’t accustomed to someone who played sharply and meticulously at once. Not to mention, the last time you played chess, you were about twelve and huddled up in layers of clothing inside, attempting to stay warm in the conman’s measly shack as the two of you hid from the winter that nipped at your noses. “Checkmate,” he sounded as if he was much too accustomed to saying it. The smug tilt of his head merely exaggerated the false humility of his.

Even though you expected him to make that exact move, your shoulders slumped anyway as you huffed impertinently. You were never the best at losing graceful; not in the castle, not with the conman and certainly not by yourself. Especially coming off of your second loss that night. 

“This evening was the first as well as the last time I’m playing chess as your opponent, Lord Phantomhive,” you rolled your eyes, tentatively scoffing as you began to reset the board, abandoning the newspaper entirely.

“Competitive, Your Highness?”

“Everyone is,” you responded, “the nature of humanity is to win; be it a war, or a simple game of chess. I despise any loss and I’m certain you feel the same, My Lord,” you ignored the piqued quirk of his eyebrow to properly finish setting the pieces to their starting square. 

“I do fit the requisites by simply being anyone- or a human, at the very least,” Lord Phantomhive seemed almost too amused by the statement- and the entendre went above your head. What was the alternative to not being human? You weren’t one to believe in anything you could not see and if there in fact, gods and demons among civilization, surely you might have attracted one, given the life you led. However, you didn’t entertain the thought beyond a stoic chuckle. “Why don’t we begin the next round, best out of five?” he suggested.

“You’re only after the satisfaction of winning five matches against me. Two ought to be plenty,” you accused, not that you blamed him. If your strategic mind could translate to ornate pieces on a board as it did with your profession, then you would happily play the Earl time and time again simply to win.

“Fine, then. Why don’t you choose the next game?” Lord Phantomhive gestured lazily towards the armoire that stood against the wall. Sebastian opened it earlier to retrieve the chess pieces from their velvet box and among the shelves were several boxes of games- several produced by the Funtom Company. Picking one of those would be nearly an instantaneous loss, considering he had a hand in creating it. You decided to settle on a classic and gingerly pulled the box that was labeled draughts. 

Draughts was an easier game in comparison to chess- while each had clear winning objectives, draughts was a straightforward game- capture the opponent’s pieces with your own. Each had equal strength until later in the game, whereas chess was a complex strategic war from the start. Playing draughts, there was much less room for error as games ought to be. Besides, you took pleasure in watching the Earl struggling to move pieces with equal power across the board while you played checkers countless of times against the conman and his friends, on the occasion.

Before you could finish the rest of your newspaper (the poetry bit was rather strenuous to get through), one of your double-stacked pieces- a king- double jumped his, decisively ending the first game of checkers of the night. “I thought you would show more of a fight, My Lord,” you scooped a victorious hunk out of the cheesecake that Sebastian delivered minutes prior. The rich Quark cheese was sweet, marrying the tart raspberry compote that was drizzled on top, syrupy in nature as it pooled around the remnants of the cake slice.

“Chess and draughts require different sets of strategies,” Lord Phantomhive responded, feigning nonchalance so as to take the loss civilly but nevertheless, he wore his frustration on his tightly pursed lips and a lack of eye contact which he normally provided in excess. “I’d bet I could win the next round now that I’m...acquainted with your style of playing.”

“Fine,” you aquised, “one last round for tonight because I simply must see you defeated again.”

. . .

FEBRUARY 24TH, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

If this pedal harp had eyes, it would have glared at you from across the music room. It was taller than you- glorious and intimidating, the dozens of strings perhaps daring you to pluck at them. The column was made of solid gold and with Lord Phantomhive’s fortune, you could assume that it was as genuine as the rest of the novelties that lived among the estate. This harp was perhaps the most intricate one you had ever laid eyes on, besting the rich mahogany instrument that you learned on as a girl. It was mandatory for the princesses of Schleswig-Holstein to practice womanly, demere hobbies and paradoxically, Marie was by far the worst violinist in Europe in spite of displaying every other desirable trait a young princess could wish to emote. 

You were the most gifted musician out of the four heirs to the German throne, which was a fact that Governess Lydia preferred to keep to herself. Nobody needed to know that it was Glücksburg Castle’s Devil Child who was producing fiercely beautiful Mozart concertos from the confinement of her quarters after a good repremandment for misbehavior. 

“My master requested this pedal harp to be handcrafted for you by George W. Lyon and Patrick Healy, the founders of Lyon and Healy- an overseas company that qualifies as the cornerstone of quality instrument creation. He corresponded closely with the two men over the past week,” you could hear Sebastian’s overly saccharine simper, even as you closely inspected the floral engravings that decorated the harp’s crown, straight down to its foot. The golden column must have been polished recently but even so, it couldn’t completely outshine the work that was put into styling the harp’s wooden soundboard and the neck, which was its signature concave top. “I do hope it's to your satisfaction- the Lord Phantomhive was eager to present it himself, however-”

“He is occupied with hosting his emergent business meeting,” you interrupted haphazardly. The Earl wouldn’t care about the Funtom Company once he was dead and besides, you couldn’t seem to find out why water damage within a single cacao refinery was such a major issue. There were dozens of cacao refineries that Lord Phantomhive funded- nosing through his official documents had told you so. “Well...think nothing of it, I suppose.”

“Of course,” Sebastian bowed, his hand over his heart, “your leniency is much appreciated, Your Highness.”

“I would appreciate being left to my own about now,” your fingertips brushed over a red string, which indicated that it was a C. On the harp, the strings were colored, indicating different notes and as if in a trance, you were tempted to play more of them as Sebastian left the room. 

The blue strings were F strings, A string was the string in the middle of the groups of three, if your memory served you well. It had been about a decade since you last touched one with the intent to sit down and play. You doubted you could, the longer you stared at the abundance of strings and yet, you claimed the upholstered chair behind it anyhow, sitting down. You cautiously pulled the harp back towards you until you found its balance point and allowed it to rest gently against your chest- practically weightless.  

Your the rest of your body seemed to recognize this more than your mind as you subconsciously repositioned the front of the harp to angle it. You could hear Lydia’s seething tone telling you to keep your arms “Halten Sie Ihre Arme in einem Winkel von 45 Grad zur Senkrechten!” (Keep your arms 45 degrees from the vertical!) properly from your body, your wrists curving gently towards the strings. 

Playing the harp was your escape as a child and there you were, once again in need of an escape. Being in a strenuous position with no clear course of action...maybe you hadn’t grown nearly as much as you thought you had.

Or at all.

The back of your neck provided an affirmative stab, causing you to bite your bottom lip, paying the chapped skin over it no mind. Ignoring the reality of the situation, did you well- it chased away nightmares, the interrupting thoughts and ironically, you were sitting before an instrument that used to help you do just that. Except, all it was doing for you then was stir thoughts and memories that could have used to remain secluded for at least one more day. 

“Mozart himself would have treasured your talent, dear girl,” Ida, one of the many maids that were assigned to prepare your sister for important events said. She was tying the back of Marie’s dress from the back, the satin laces a deep abrugene to match the rest of the garment. For young girls, clothing was quite simple- pinafores, dresses, sensible flats or boots. You weren’t introduced to the horrors of training crinolines and corsets until it was the year you went missing and stayed that way. 

“It was nothing, Ida,” Marie-Louise yawned, extending her hand out to another maid, Lotte for her to slide a lace glove onto it, pulling it up to reach her forearm. The team of three maids worked around her like bees in a hive, hovering and flitting about, making useless conversation to please a girl who was nowhere near half of their age. “Music comes easy to me.”

No, it didn’t. The extent of Marie’s musical ability was to pick up a violin and brandish the bow, only to force the poor instrument to squeal about a few noises before she gave up. Marie liked everything to come easy to her- she liked to be a natural talent, a prodigy with anything she attempted. 

Music came easily to you, but within the walls of Glücksburg Castle, all you knew how to accomplish was wreak havoc and delay plans. It didn’t make sense for music to come easily to you and so, no one believed you, no matter what you said or how you said it. 

“They ought to organize a recital for you, Your Highness. Her Majesty would adore hearing you play,” Lotte suggested with a smile that seemed forced- like clothespins were pinching the corners of her lips and cheeks in place.

“Why do that when Mr. Brahms and Mr. Strauss performed for us already?” You couldn’t help but interject, their words irking you as you stood on the other side of the large quarters- in front of your own separate vanity and armoire. Two other maids, Emery and Katharina were assigned to you were also whisking around you like overeager bees, but they didn’t bother to coddle your self esteem. You appreciated that they did their job and silently at that. Nothing could convince you to forget the disappointment that furrowed their faces when they learned that they would be tended to you instead of your mother or your sister. They were treated with stiff contempt from the minute they introduced themselves in lieu of it. “They’re musical geniuses and you’re a princess.”

A lying princess, at that. 

You were asked to remain looking forward while Emery caked your face and neck in thick powder and rouge and Katharina tied a chain of pearls around it. It was the exact ensemble that your sister’s team was assembling for her, except Ida and Lotte were much less time-efficient. The point was, Marie-Louise was free to face and glare at the side of your head, her seven-year-old mind trying to formulate a witty, yet tactful response. 

“You’re a princess as well, Helena,” Marie-Louise hissed, “but you just can’t ever be normal and act like one.” It always had to come down to that, didn’t it.

“Just when did Governess Lydia teach us to lie in Etiquette Class?” You turned to your sister, which was admittedly, the equivalent of staring at a scowling mirage of yourself, who seemed to be on the verge of shedding frustrated tears. Satisfaction bloomed in your chest. “I must have properly missed such a lesson, considering everybody seems to abide by it.”

“Please, that is quite enough, miss. Supper is nearing and we wouldn’t want to present you both late. Poor form is unbecoming,” Ida, the most experienced maid only scolded you in the process of intervening. That was to be expected. 

You didn’t respond and simply allowed Emery to part and braid your hair into a tight bun as Katharina secured your boots in tense silence. Most of your life up to that point was in tense, furthering silence anyway and yet, the royal family had the audacity to be surprised when you fled.

Supper was always the same. Your older brothers, Albert and Christian sat prudently on one side of the table, you and Marie-Louise were across from them and your mother was absent, visiting the Hampton Court Palace to see the Royal School of Needlework to its opening, since she was its first president. While she was one of the most active people in the royal family in charity work, her duty as a mother ended the moment she pushed the twins out of her womb. 

“Helena,” Christian said, acting as if he had lived through the many experiences of a king in only sixteen years. “Your Royal Guard came looking for you in the cricket field this morning- again. Where were you off to today?”

“I was with Hanna,” you lied, puncturing the rough exterior of the sausage on your plate with the tip of your knife before properly slicing it. In truth, you hid yourself in the stables because the animals were better company that anyone on castle grounds. “We were-”

“When did Governess Lydia teach us to lie in Etiquette Class?” Marie-Louise mimicked your words from prior, purposely making a mockery of your voice as she scrunched her nose. “Thora went out to sit with the pigs and the filth, Christle,” she explained employing the frankly bothersome, nicknames that your grandmother started. 

Christian ignored her and instead gave your father a long look, trying to get him to instead chastise you but to no avail. His Majesty was much too occupied with attempting to stab a piece of sausage whilst reading a letter. Kingly duties- and this was what your older brothers wished to embody. 

“It’s getting cold. If you’re so compelled to ignore your duties, may as well do it safely,” Christian mumbed gruffly, causing Albert to snicker in turn. Albert had the right of it as you fought a grin, setting your utensils down to signify that you were finished with your meal- the tips of your fork and knife met on an angle at the top of your plate, similar to a triangle.

“Very well, Christle,” you stood up from your chair, breaking the code of the highest ranking individual needing to finish his meal before anyone else left the dining table. In which case, that would be your father who was still satisfying himself with a serving of knödeln- potato dumplings. He mouthed each word that he read because it was likely written in French or English. “I ought to go to amuse myself, then.”

You showed yourself back to your quarters, Ida’s pleas for you to return to the meal and properly wait for His Majesty to end it. You hesitated in front of the closed door, the impertinent anger from your sister’s mere existence returned in seconds, causing you to impulsively go to the games room, where the harp was kept, and do exactly as you were forbidden to. 

You were forbidden from playing while Marie-Louise was occupied elsewhere- a rule that Lydia had threatened you over. But the moment that servants understood that it was your mastery that filled the castle corridors, they would detest it. Marie-Louise could live with being a little less affable in their eyes and even if she could not…

Some deserved not to. 

You opened your eyes, unconscious to when they had closed. Your fingers froze, the skin on them raw and burning familiarly, your wrists protesting the angle you held them at. Your hands trembled having expertly recalled the daringly simple melody of Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major, but before you could try to recall some piece by Liszt (the name was lost to you), Mey-Rin entered which was likely for the better. You were prepared to sit on that chair until your fingers bled, in spite of what it made you recall. 

“Lunch is about ready,” Mey-Rin’s eyes were red and bleary, but you made no effort to question it, thankful that she refrained from commenting on your playing. “Are you feelin’ alright ma’am? You’ve gone a bit red.”

“Yes, thank you. I might’ve overexerted myself,” you suggested, which was true. Your head pounded the moment you tried to stand. 

“Why don’t I bring it all up to your room,” she offered, “you just rest.” She briefly looked down at her boots, presumably checking the laces because tripping was quite a common occurrence for her. How the fragile antiques that Lord Phantomhive collected remained whole was beyond you when the only maid was a clumsy and slightly gullible...täuschen, or half-wit, as the conman might’ve said. But in this case, she had a point. Nothing sounded more appealing than having lunch alone in your room- without his (snarky) Lordship.

. . .

There were no time constraints at the estate- absolutely none that told you when you could play or when you couldn’t. 

This was exactly how you found yourself before the harp once after your nightly routine concluded. You were pulling the harp back to lean on your shoulder like a woman possessed, hungry for control of some kind. Whether it be dragging the blade of a knife across your victim’s throat or more realistically, pulling the strings of a brilliant instrument that must have cost half of a fortune to commission. Besides, if you killed Lord Phantomhive, you would have to leave before having at least a few more chances to make the beautiful instrument sing.

The hour called for something demure, rather than you experimenting with what your muscle memory could or could not conjure. You immediately began with Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major once again, willing your gaze to remain on your hands, actively fighting off any intersecting train of thought while you played. You focused on every flick of your wrists, the shift of your slipper on the pedals all while your hands knew exactly where they needed to be and when. 

At least they did before the shrill vibrato of a violin interjected the alto hum made by your harp. It came from the next room over, the Earl’s office, no less clearer than it would have been from a few feet in front of you. The violin took the melody that you willingly surrendered for the sake of keeping the piece uncluttered and subtle, as it was intended to be. 

This was how Lydia wanted an accompaniment between you and Marie to play out- you vaguely recalled the sheet music that she painfully attempted to teach her. Clearly, your counterpart was never able to grasp the music well enough and the accompaniment never took place- even after you embarrassed her that night. After your father dismissed your siblings, she came to the music room and had an... entirely becoming temper tantrum in your face- such a display would have ended with you being locked in a closet for several hours. Ida simply escorted her back to the quarters you shared and made her a glass of chamomile tea to calm her down.

As the piece came to a mutual decrescendo, it slowly faded away, ending with a soft glissando. It was unlike Lord Phantomhive to give you the last word without so much as the irked look or in this case, an irked trill.

Tags: 

[annerly-san]

Our Happy Ending | Risotto Nero | Chapters 1-7

A03 Link:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/25862377/chapters/62838787

The warmth aroma of freshly baked bread and the wafting smells of the starting day’s espresso carried itself in the air of Naples.

She inhaled with great vigor before contently letting her breath out with elated content.

It was the smallest things that she appreciated in her life.

Whether it was the sun shining brightly as it peered over the horizon and began its way across the clear blue sky to reach its pinnacle straight above her head, the wind gently ruffling the loose fabric at the hems of her sleeves, or the quiet scratching of pen against paper as she wrote out fantastical stories where she could aptly convey the best imagery and tales that her mind could muster.

A street musician was playing in the background of the patio she sat in.

The server had arrived with a freshly baked cornetto-- a golden brown that shone with the glisten of butter on top-- as well as a cappuccino with a gracefully drawn flower in the foam of the milk.

Her pen inked the final letter of the word she had just finished writing before she allowed for the pen to be set down against the notebook.

Gratefully thanking the waiter, she wrapped the band of the notebook around the cover as to bind its contents neatly together before stowing the book into her bag.

The sensation of light, bubbly foam transitioning to warm, creamy milk and then hot, bitter espresso glided over her palette as she took a sip of her cappuccino.  The croissant, not going unattended, was soon picked up, peeled back to reveal its many flaky and steaming layers, and nibbled at.

The solace of this routine gave her an ease of mind as she finished up the last of her breakfast -- leaving her payment on the table before clutching her satchel and heading towards the streets.

She wondered where she would go today.

Perhaps the seashore and the rhythmic clashing of waves could lull her to a new productivity as she put her pen to work on the final chapters of her novel.  Or maybe the gentle ambience of a meadow by the orchid of lemon trees and its growing fruits would provide the relaxation to conclude her story with a satisfying end.

Her recent novel about an underdog of a high-crime syndicate working his ends off for his greedy and self-serving superior had been a massive hit with the masses.  The most recent book had the gang-member killing his capo in retaliation for the endless bloodshed and crimes that he had stained his hands with by the order of the higher ups.

The story was intense and interlaced with drama and the general reception of the mafia novel had been so well-received that she was urged to write the sequel or a follow-up to the poor man’s tale.

Her mind wandered as she walked down the busy sidewalk-- catching glance of her reflection in a boutique’s window as a strange inspiration struck her.

Maybe she would write to the tale of him returning to his family.  A father coming back to see the wife and daughter that he had left behind as a means to keep her safe from the mafia.

The thought prickled at her heart with a gleeful delight and a resonating ache of reflection as she wondered if that was why her father had abandoned her mother so long ago.  Her mother had long since passed, but her lips remained still on who her father was and why he had left them.  The curiosity of her mind grasped at straws and drew traces in her imagination as she pondered if there was ever a chance she had a father entangled in the mafia.

She found herself smiling happily at the notion and, by extension, the idea of a father leaving his family behind for their safety.  The reflection of herself smiled back-- lips parted slightly and turned upwards in a faint smile.  But as she stared in the glass, the corner of her eyes noticed a pair of intense red irises surrounded by an obsidian sclera glowing in the background of her reflection.

Alarmed, she turned around.

There was nothing.

Perhaps it was just a figment of her imagination, but she couldn’t not help but feel the quickening pace of her heart and slight shivers running down her back.  She turned back to the glass to only see herself and nothing else.

Blinking the remainder of the daydreams from her mind, she turned back to the direction that she was walking in and continued strolling down the street-- telling herself to calm the rapidly growing pace of her heartbeats and the prickling sensation on her back that made her feel like she was being watched.

She found herself at the entrance of an alleyway as she immediately began to panic.

This was one of the furthest places from a shoreline or meadow that she had hoped to be in to continue writing the extension of her novel.  In hindsight, the moment she felt some sort of discomfort and indication that she was being followed, she should have immediately gone to a busier place with the police nearby.

She needed to leave.

While she didn’t dare enter the alley, she somehow managed to walk down a more quiet street with less foot traffic.  Internally hoping that good luck and fortune would grace her, she turned around only to bump into an invisible force that caused her to stumble backwards from the collision.

She felt herself being dragged into the darkness of the alleyway.

A scream grew in her throat, but before it could leave, a hand almost twice the size of her entire face clamped over her mouth and forced her stumbling backwards in the direction of its force.

Her back was slammed against the brick wall of the building and she felt the stinging press of a thin cold metal at her throat.

A knife.

A jolt of scalding cold blood pulsated through her veins as her body tremored uncontrollably from fear.

The fear that she had hopes to convey in the eloquent words of her novel were nothing compared to the actual reality.  No matter how well and fluent she was with her words, they were reduced to simple lines and phrases that bordered on the threshold of incoherency.

“P-please, if it’s money you want-”  She looked down at her side and stumbled to grab her wallet from her satchel.  “Y-you can have it!  P-please!  I-I’m just a novelist!”

The blade pressed against her throat with greater pressure as a dull sting broke across the surface of her skin and a disturbing sensation of warm fluid was felt trickling down her neck.

Her eyes pressed shut as she retreated back to feeble resignation of being held at the mercy of her aggressor.

Shuddering and forcing her eyes to pry open, she was met with the eyes of the reaper.

Towering above her, she had to strain her neck at an uncomfortable angle to meet his eyes.  And those eyes.

Haunting.

A pair of crystalline rubies floating in a pool of endless obsidian.

Eerily beautiful.

Had she not been so initially encaptivated by the intensity of his eyes, its contrasting play of colors that elicited fear and radiated threat, she would have sooner noticed the sharp features of his face.  His expression was solemn.  Nearly devoid of human emotion to the extent where she would be compelled to believe in tales of demons and grim reapers that were sent to fetch the souls of humans to torment in the afterlife.  The grim death glare that he had would have been sufficient on its own to send her into a horrible mess of tears and intelligible pleas for him to just kill her quickly as to not have her suffer whatever amount of torture and torment he was capable of.

But with that ominous look on his face, the overbearing presence that radiated off of him to the point of suffocating her, as well as the knife that was drawing blood from her neck, there was simply too much simulation for her brain to handle.

And as often the case in dangerous situations, the fright, anxiety, pain and shock caused the blood pressure in her body to drop.  Combined with the quick intake and exchange of oxygen in her lungs as a result of hyperventilation, she felt light-headed.

There was a sudden brightness that there wasn’t supposed to be in a dark alleyway as the sensation of falling flooded into her senses.

She fainted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~END CHP 1 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Risotto wasn’t sure what to do with the unconscious woman.

He had the orders to kill her.

But from his judgement, the lady seemed to be a completely innocent civilian.

Was the information incorrect?

The orders from his capo were based on an arguably flimsy correlation.  The murder of one of Passione’s capo’s by a lower-ranked gang member that had defected was linked to a similar description in one of the recently published novels about mafia drama.

He was ordered to find the author and eliminate her if she was indeed the culprit that spurred the treacherous deed to fruition.

“...It seems that the two occurences just happened to be coincidental.”

He examined her.  Having caught her right before she crumpled to the ground and saving her from a potential concussion from hitting her head on the concrete floor.

Risotto made sure to scrutinize her carefully.

There wasn’t a trace of violence or ill-will evident.  The way that she passed out at the slightest threat and his appearance was also proof that she had no prior exposure to violence or threats of any kind.

It was either she had no hand in the betrayal and murder of one of Passione’s capos, or she did play a part-- but was unaware.

While the members of Passione were ordered to avoid civilian casualties the best they could-- and Risotto would rather not kill an innocent civilian unless he was forced to-- the prospect of her potentially involved in the capo’s death made him lean towards the choice of gathering more information on her before doing anything decisive.

He took ahold of her a little better-- easily picking her up and holding her body to rest horizontally in his arms.  Using Metallica to attract microscopic iron filaments in the surrounding alleyway, he cloaked the both of them in iron to conceal their visible presence before heading off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a dull ache that awoke her.

Her limbs felt weak and she had a strange shake in her hands.  There was little to no energy left in her.

Adjusting her eyes and blinking a few times to clear them of the foggy layer that had obscured their vision, she made out her surroundings.

She was resting on a bed in what seemed to be an apartment room.  She tried to sit up.

“You’re awake.”

The abrupt sound of a low and deep voice startled her as she yelped in surprise only to flinch at the sudden pain in her neck.

“The cut isn’t deep, but you should be fine,” the voice continued.  “I’ve cleaned it and wrapped it already for you.”

She was suddenly aware of the gauze wrapped around her throat as her fingers gingerly touched the wrapping as her stomach sank.

The prickling sensation of eyes staring into her back was present again.  There was a reluctance to verify the identity of the person that was speaking to her.

That timbre.  That cold tone.  It was unfamiliar to her, but she had an inkling as to who it belonged to.

She forced herself to turn around and look at her reaper in the eyes.

There were those eyes again.  The eyes were considered the windows to the soul and often the first place where people would focus their attention when they stared at someone’s face for the first time.

Those brilliant red and black eyes tantalized her with coinciding emotions of crippling fear as well as dangerous curiosity.

Her abductor leaned against the wall by the windowsill locking eye contact with her.

She was surprised that she could still speak.

“D-did you need something from me?”

She wasn’t sure if she imagined the slightest quirk of his lips into a smile.

“That’s the first thing you choose to ask?”

She wasn’t sure how to respond, but it didn’t seem that he was expecting an answer from her.

“I want you to write a story for me.”

If he had not taken ahold of her fear and attention by suddenly approaching the bedside to place himself close to her, she would have questioned the absurdity of his request.

Before she had the time to inquire, he already continued speaking.

“What do you need to write?  I’d like for you to have it done for me by… tomorrow morning.  Does that sound fair?  It can be a short story”  He seemed to be freely speaking now.  The words flowed from his lips naturally as it swayed in sync with his thoughts.  “Can you write the story exactly how I ask for it?   I want it to be about someone.  And I want something very specific to happen to this man in your work.”

She didn’t register his hands enveloping hers as he placed a pen and notebook in her hands.

Going purely off of the texture, size and feel of the items, these weren’t hers.

Where did he put them?

The pen had fallen out of her hand, bouncing off the bed and rolling to a halt on the floor.  She was shaking too much it seemed.

He let out an almost silent sigh before picking it up for her.

“I won’t hurt you.”  His voice made her shiver.  His voice was gruff, low and deep.  It made the ribs in her chest vibrate with each syllable that he enunciated.  “But I need you to do this for me.  I also can’t have you go anywhere until you finish either.”

Those intense eyes captured hers again.

She wasn’t sure how to interpret the emotions in his eyes.  Was there sincerity?  A sign that she could trust him to his words?

The endless black voids of his eyes answered with nothing.

She looked at the pen he held out for her and took in carefully.

This was a compromised situation.

If she did as she was told, it could only increase the percentage of her leaving unscathed.  But that didn’t necessarily mean that she was given an absolute guarantee either.

She cautiously uncapped the pen and tried to stabilize her hand over the notebook.  The pen pressed against the paper-- leaving a pooling circle of ink on the otherwise pristinely clean page.

She inhaled sharply before letting in an uneven exhale.

Looking at him, she mustered the courage to ask.

“W-who is this person I’m writing about…?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Risotto had phoned Melone and Ghiaccio to uncover more information on the woman before he decided his next course of action.

“She’s a civilian.  It doesn’t seem that she’s even remotely aware of Passione, much less the capo’s death,” Risotto reported.  “Can you provide me any other information?”

The results were interesting.

The novel that the woman had published was written a good amount of time before the capo’s murder which could only mean that the only possible link would be that the defector took inspiration from the novel a month after it was published and took to betraying the gang.

She was also blood-related to a higher-ranked official of Passione that had passed away a couple of years ago during a drug deal heist.  There was no motive that could have spurred her to create discord within the organization.

Risotto hung up.

He’s come across something valuable.  He only needed to affirm it.

Walking back into the bedroom of the apartment that he had reserved for instances of missions such as this, he took a quick glance at the bed to see that the woman was still out cold.

Arriving at the nightstand, he cleared away the roll of gauze, scissors, and antiseptic before taking note of the woman’s satchel which he had set on the floor earlier.

Opening it, he noticed the notebook which seemed to be her journal of notes, stories and excerpts that she wrote in.

The outlines were detailed; it listed everything from the characters relationships to symbolism to plot development and even chapter to chapter layout.

He noticed the small movements on the bed-- an indication that she was stirring closer to consciousness.  Risotto quickly stashed the notebook away.  He would look through it at his leisure later.

As she began to stir awake, he began to ponder the various prospects of her ability.

A novel that correlated to a gang member’s betrayal.  A blood relation to a potential stand user.

He needed to test her abilities and confirm it for himself.

Watching her stumble to sit herself up and look around, he leaned against the wall-- spectating with mild amusement.  The look of horror in her eyes as she met his, the fumbling of her words as she asked him what he needed something from her made him, and the nervous fidget of her fingers gripping for the comfort of something that wasn’t there drew out the rarest and faintest of smiles from him.

“I want you to write a story for me.”

He would test his theory.

There was a pending assignment for the assasination of a politician that had been lobbying for certain policies that would levy power against Passione.  This was a perfect opportunity.

He found a pen and empty notebook on the shelf nearby and handed it to her-- watching as she took it in shaky hands.

She dropped it.

He would need to be a little more careful when speaking to her.

The intimidation that he was so used to pressuring on others always served him well in this field of work.  This was probably the first time that it happened to put him at a disadvantage.

Risotto let out a soft sigh as he picked up the pen and placed it in her hands.

“I won’t hurt you.”  Given how their first encounter played out, he didn’t place blame on the high amount of guard and caution she put up to defend against him.  He tried to soften his tone.  “But I need you to do this for me.  I also can’t have you go anywhere until you finish either.”  He stared at her in the eyes, internally commending her for her ability to hold his rather daunting gaze.

He noted the way she tried to steady her hands almost feeling some penance of guilt for putting her in such a compromised situation.

But he couldn’t help but feel a touch of pride and satisfaction for her as she looked straight at him and asked, “Who is this person I’m writing about?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   END CHP 2 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She never liked politics in the first place.

The name of the protagonist that her abductor wanted her to write about sounded familiar, but she wasn’t in touch with the exact details of his office or campaign.

“Have him die of a heart attack or something.”  He had told her.  “Car accident, anything really…”

The pen was making a trail of flowing ink on her paper as she thought.

She sat at a desk with pen in hand and a blank notebook opened and resting in front of her.  Her kidnapper sat in a chair by her side as to watch her write.

Her mind was semi-occupied as to why this man had specifically requested this story of her, and the other part of her mind, the writer’s imagination, wondered how the politician should die, what death he deserved and how to play it out.

Maybe the man hated this politician.  Psychologically, a method of coping is to simply project your more unacceptable wishes and desires into other mediums such as art or writing in order to create some sense of ease to cope with an unfair reality.

Regardless of his reason, she was asked to write.

It wasn’t an unreasonable request to demand of her.

“What does he look like?”

Her abductor raised an eyebrow before pulling out a photo and handing it to her.

The image was that of a man in his early thirties with bright eyes and a wide smile.  Dressed in a plain dress shirt, he seemed to be in the middle of a political rally lobbying for the good of the common folk.

“...he looks like a nice person…” she commented to no one but herself.

“Does he now?”

She almost forgot that he was there and dropped the image in surprise.  The paper floated down and landed against the notebook, and she left it there for reference.

“He doesn’t seem like the type of person that would have a lot of enemies…” she pondered as she stared at the fallen photograph on the desk.  She had already immersed herself into thought and paid no heed to the intent onlook of the man at her side.

“What if he got poisoned?  Who would poison him?  A political rival?” she began to mutter to herself.  “But that wouldn’t make for an interesting story, don’t you think?  What if he got murdered by someone who didn’t support his campaign?”  Her pen met contact on the paper as words slowly started to appear with each loop of her hand.

Unintentionally, her thought processes ran too close to reality.  A large hand had grabbed hers preventing her from writing any further.

“No.”

Despite being startled by the sudden interjection, the grip on her pen and the stability of her hand floating above the paper did not falter.

“I-I’m sorry?”

His gaze was unreadable.  Despite his overbearing strength and ability to snap her wrist with ease, the hold on her hand was surprisingly more gentle than what she thought he could be capable of.

“Don’t make it a murder.  An accident.  Do something like that.”

“B-but-” she wasn’t sure what compelled her to fortify her mental resilience to dispute him.

“But?”  He didn’t seem to mind the pushback against his commands.  She interpreted the slight tilt of his head and the relinquish of his grip on her wrist as an unspoken urge for her to continue.

“...That won’t make for an interesting story…”

He laughed.

She felt her face redden.  It was unclear as to whether that could solely be attributed to embarrassment.  He had a low pitch laugh that seemed to reverberate in his chest.

The sound caught her breath.

“W-what’s so funny about wanting to write something interesting?” she mumbled to herself.  She placed her pen down and placed her balled-up hands down on the desk.  “I’m an author after all...”

He let out a couple more chuckles before picking her pen with one hand and her hand with the other.  Carefully uncurling her fingers and setting the pen in he asked, “Why don’t we come up with an interesting way to kill him together, hm?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He found her intriguing.

“What if you made him jump off a building?”  This was the tenth suggestion that he had made for her so far.

The utter look of dissatisfaction that she gave him was enough to make him chuckle again.  When was the last time he managed to laugh like this?

“...that’s it?  ...you’re unbelievably boring…”

He raised an eyebrow at the whispered comment.

“I’m boring?”

She must have not meant for him to hear that as she flusteredly denied her words and stated that she’ll write about a politician jumping out from the twentieth story of a building.

Risotto grabbed her wrist again.

“How would you go about killing him then?” he asked.

“W-well.  I just think that there should be a reason-” her words came out in a stammer.  “M-maybe I’d make him drink a little too much and get into a car accident.”  The nervousness was out of her tone now.  “He kills an innocent pedestrian which makes him lose his favor with the public.”  She had turned towards him with a inquisitive look in her eyes-- seeking his opinion.  “He then spirals into despair, and flings himself off of the tallest building he could enter!  What do you think?”

There was a strange, but alluring, sparkle in her eyes as she poured forth her imagination and ideas to him.  He gave her a rare smile.

“I think it’s great.”

The corners of her lips turned upwards into a wide smile expressing her joy.  She made a content hum of agreement as turned back to the desk and immediately began to write-- completely immersed in her own world.

Risotto left her to work.  The scratching of pen against paper filled the room as he left quietly so as to not disturb her.

She had an endearing smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  END CHP 3 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She didn’t notice the blanket on her shoulders at first as she stirred awake.  It slid off and pooled around her waist as she sat up straight on her chair, wiping the drool that had pooled down her cheek while she was sleeping.

Her neck and back ached.  It was an all-too-familiar sensation of the times she fell into a trance of high concentration and wrote until her head hit the table from pure sleepiness and exhaustion.

The door creak helped pull her from the morning grogginess and daze.

She blinked a few times at the man who stood in the doorway-- taking a few moments to recollect the events of yesterday.

He walked over towards her, setting down a plate of pastries on the table.

“I-It’s finished-” she began as she picked up the several sheets of paper covered with her writing on it.  The last page, which she had denoted with an elegant print of the word ‘finish’, was taken from the top of the stack and neatly placed at the bottom and handed over.

“Thank you.”  He gratefully took the story and pulled up a chair to sit beside her.   “I brought you breakfast.  Eat up.”

“T-thanks.”  She picked up a blueberry lemon scone with large crystals of sugar baked into the top and took a bite.  The refreshing combination of tart lemon and sweet blueberries tingled in her mouth as she watched him read her work with an intense interest.

She watched the rise and fall of his breaths as he read.  Those crimson irises moved back and forth in his dark shadowy sclera as they traced over the lines of her words.  She watched as he would raise a brow or quirk his lips as he reached the different parts or climatic events of her work.

The blueberry lemon scone, as delicious as it was, was deprived of her attention as she was solely focused on him reading each penned word.

She watched as he arrived at the last page; eyes lingering on the final word before he shuffled the papers back in order and looked up at her.

“Thank you for this.  It was very well written.”  His voice was soft, as if he was careful to not break the comfortable lull of silence they had between the both of them.

The praise gave birth to a warm blossom in her chest as elation filled her heart and lungs.

“I’m glad to deliver,” she spoke with a smile.

He captured her attention with his eyes as he leaned in and asked, “Can I ask for you to stay here for a couple more days?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  END CHP 4 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She thought that she would be able to leave by now.

After he had finished reading her work, he keeped content with what she had produced and didn’t ask for her to write anything more.

The two of them sat at the dining table in silence as she drank her coffee and ate the rest of her scone.  He sat across from her reading her most recent novel-- the one about the underdog in the mafia killing his boss.  He was close to the end; the book was probably already started on before he had gone to abduct her that day.

Did he kidnap her because he liked her work?

Her mind tried to grasp at any reason without regard to how flimsy the logic was.  Why else did he simply kidnap her to write a story for him?  There wasn’t any further attempt to maim, hurt or kill her.  In fact, he seemed to be extremely civil once she agreed to his request to write him a story of his choosing.

She took a sip from her coffee again as her mind wandered off.

“What happened to him at the end?”

She looked up to see that he had already finished the novel.  He was a quick reader.

The tone was inquisitive.  She smiled.

“What do you think happened to him?” she asked him back.

He scoffed.  “The likelihood of him being hunted down for killing his capo and brutally killed is nearly a hundred percent.”  The book cover closed shut with a soft thud.  He set it on the table and slid it towards her.

She let herself smile at his immediate response grounded in reality with no leeway for creative freedom.  “But that’d be boring, don’t you think?”

“You say that a lot,” he mused.  

A faint smile was barely visible on his lips.  She couldn’t help her mind from wandering about what his own story was to lead him here today.

It was contagious.  She couldn’t help but follow in his steps as her smile widened further.

“But wouldn’t you agree?  As close to the truth as reality would have it, a story -- with its infinestinal possibilities that extend beyond the scopes of the real world-- should be interesting!”  She waved both hands up to exaggerate her point.  “If we can’t live out the dreams that we seek in reality, shouldn’t we at least be able to escape to a world of our creation and mold it however we wish?  And that world should be at least interesting!”

She was proud of her speech.  It was rare that she could verbally string together words and convey herself beyond the medium of pen and paper.

Her listener was watching her with interest and she felt even more pride swell up in the fact that she managed to provide enough entertainment for him to continue smiling.

“That makes a lot of sense,” he contemplated.  She noticed the mild distraction in his eyes as he seemed to be speaking to a different matter.

She let out a sigh, picking at the last of her scone.

“My editor told me to write a sequel for him…  I don’t want to do that at first… I always like to leave the endings up for interpretation by the readers.  Did he get caught?  Did he escape?  No one knows, and therefore anything could happen.”

She noticed the small shift in his attention.  He seemed to be pondering something.

He finally looked up at her after some time, capturing her attention with those hauntingly alluring eyes.  Lips parted, his low voice smoothly articulated his next few words.

“Can I ask you to write another story for me?”

She was surprised that her kidnapper-- an intimidating, gigantic man with red and black eyes-- could come up with something of this caliber.

He sat next to her as he told her about each character to write about.

“Formaggio.  He has a buzz cut.  Short guy.”  His large hands almost entirely enveloped the pen she was holding as he drew a -- shockingly good-- sketch of a man with an easy going smirk on his face.

“His name is Formaggio...?”  She wondered how he decided to name someone after cheese.  He was more creative and less boring than what she had originally given him credit for.

He continued.  “This one is Melone.”  He drew a man wearing a transparent mask covering his right eye and his tongue deviously sticking out.  “He’s… interesting… says ‘Di Molto’ a lot.”

She resisted the urge to laugh when he was trying so hard to draw and explain these characters to her.

“Ghiaccio… short-tempered… has a problem with metaphors and analogies and gets angry when he takes them too literally…”

She listened attentively as he continued to draw and explain the various cast of characters that he wanted her to write about.

There was Pesci, Prosciutto, Gelato, Sorbet, Illuso, Formaggio, Melone, and Ghiaccio.  She found the description of them to be very endearing.

“What would you like for them to do?”

There was a pause as he seemed to gather his thoughts.

“I want you to write a story where they find the man in your novel.”  He seemed to want a short one-shot story on the capture of her previous protagonist.

“Ahahaha!  How could you ask me to kill my other character off like that?”  She burst into laughter as he spoke of his request.  “Ok, ok!  I’ll do it.”

It’s been awhile since she wrote a more light-hearted comedical piece.  This was a good change of pace.  There were apparently some fantastical elements that he wished to capture as well.  Using a power called “a stand”, each character had their own stand which they could utilize to get the job done.  She was told in detail how each of the powers worked.

He stared at her intently as she took notes.

As she neared the end of her complex web of story mapping and outlines, she felt a small poke at her shoulder.

“When they’re done with the job, maybe their boss can give them a raise.”

The pen twirled around in her fingers as she chuckled.  “They did do a good job-”  The tip of the pen met the surface of the paper again as it was noted down.  “But what would they do with the extra money?”

The man beside her was silent.  Taking a glance at him, she noticed he looked a little abashed as he mumbled, “...maybe they can get their leader a present.”

She laughed at the unexpected answer.  “Which one’s the leader?  Is it Prosciutto?  Ghiaccio?”  She was ready to have the team get a solid gold nameplate embossed with ‘Best Leader’.

She looked at him for an answer.

It was interesting to see him get a bit flustered as he avoided her inquiring eyes.

“...Just have them stop complaining and fighting for a week or two after they get the raise…”

She couldn’t suppress her mirth as she grinned widely and giggled to herself-- writing down that the team would celebrate their pay raise, giving their leader his much deserved credit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  END CHP 5 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The man who caused this entire situation to unfold was still on the run.

No one was able to catch him.

After reading the novel and asking the author of the man’s situation once the deed was done, it all made sense.

A day or two after Risotto had asked her to write on the politician’s death, everything played out in the exact manner of the story she wrote.

He was dumbfounded.

It was good foresight on his end to have her stay in the apartment for a little while longer while he confirmed his theories.

He took a deep breath.

The ability to change reality based on writing…  It was a formidable power.

It was a power that he should keep to himself as leverage against his enemies down the road-- especially since no one else knew of her ability aside from him.

It was an hour after dawn broke and Risotto knew that she would still be sleeping in from staying awake all night on the story he commissioned from her.

It gave him enough time to do several things.

Upon giving orders to the rest of the team to chase after the man who had killed the capo, Risotto left the base to pick up a few items before proceeding to the apartment.

Passing by the bakery, he picked up a variety of pastries-- specifically asking for blueberry lemon scones.  His eyes caught the shining glint of a gold and black metal pen with red crystals in it on display at a store and decided to purchase it on impulse.  He asked for it to be wrapped nicely and tucked it into the bottom of his bag where it would be safe and secure for the rest of his trip.  Right before he left the shopping district, he picked up a small bag of freshly ground espresso to bring back to brew.

It didn’t take long for him to arrive at the apartment.

Unlocking the door as quietly as he could, the slight creak of the door was unavoidable as he stepped inside.

He set the bags on the dining table before taking a quick peek into the bedroom.

She was asleep in the chair again.

Her face was completely flush against the table with her hand still somehow clutching the pen upright.

Risotto let out a small sigh as he walked over towards her and removed the pen from her grip.

Carefully, he picked her up and placed her on the bed-- pulling a blanket over her as she snoozed through the entire operation.

He walked over to the table and rearranged the papers and tools.

The story seemed finished.

A curiosity and rare excitement filled him as his eyes lingered on the papers that he had rearranged and set nicely on the table.

He shook his head.

He can wait.

Risotto made sure that she was comfortable in the bed before he headed back out to the dining room.

She was out for another two or three hours, and it gave Risotto enough time to run out again and grab some groceries to fill the fridge with.

Since she couldn’t leave the apartment, he asked her what kinds of food she liked so he could at least bring her some sustenance and not leave her to starve to death.

She had told him that she liked to make pasta; it was like making a story since the process is the same but you could make as many dishes as you want by simply changing the ingredients, sauce and pasta shape.

He bought around five different types of pasta.

Arriving back home, he started to begin brewing coffee as he heard her begin to move about in the other room.

He started to put all of the produce away and laid out breakfast on the table for her in anticipation for when she came out.

As he began to put the bags away, he realized that he had left the gift-wrapped pen at the bottom of one of the bags completely forgotten.

He tucked it away in one of his hidden pockets, making a mental note to remember to take it out and give it to her before he left.

She walked into the dining room trying to rub the sleep from her eyes.

“Good morninggg-” she droned as she stumbled towards her chair at the table.

“Good morning,” Risotto greeted back.

“Oh, a scone!  A blueberry lemon scone!”  She picked up the scone that he had set out on a plate for her and watched her take a bite at it.  “M-mhm!  My favorite…”

Risotto let himself smile as he walked over with a just-brewed, hot cup of espresso.  “Here.  To wake you up.”

The cup was eagerly taken with much gratitude and sipped from.  A few blinks of her eyes restored her full consciousness.

“Oh, thank you!” she hummed.

She had warmed up to him considerably in the past couple of days.  Given how he had abducted her from the normalcy of her life, wounded her in the process, made her follow through with his requests and refused to let her go home, he was surprised with her more friendly and easy-going behavior.

“Oh, the story you wanted is done!”  She got up from her chair and rushed back to the bedroom-- emerging only seconds later with the stack of papers that Risotto had cleaned up for her earlier.

He was handed the pages with an eager look of anticipation.  She sat down at the table and picked up her coffee cup again; her eyes didn’t leave his as she seemed to sit at the edge of her seat, waiting for his reactions as he started to read the words she wrote for him.

Risotto rarely laughed.

These past few days were interesting as he found himself letting his more scarce emotions show.

Her story made him laugh several times.

The way that she happened to depict each one of his team members impeccably down to their smallest habits or features made him feel as though he had been by their side watching them bicker in the moments before they stumbled into the man they sought to capture.

It wasn’t before long that he had found himself deep into the fantastical world of writing that she had written; his mind let go of his surroundings for the first time as he completely immersed himself following his men through their journey.

There was a slight frustration at the end when his eyes reached the clean print of ‘finish’ at the bottom of the last page.

His eyes narrowed and he let out a sharp breath.

“U-um-”

Risotto didn’t notice the attempt to grab his attention at first as his eyes began to flip back through the story for a second time.

“U-uh, Signore-?”  She was fumbling with her words, but Risotto’s attention was solely focused on the print of the pages.  It wasn’t until he heard a small squeak and a slightly louder voice call for him that he realized that she was attempting to get his attention. 

“Mr. Kidnapper?”

He quirked his eyebrows at the title she had given him as he looked up to see the interesting expression on her face.  Risotto couldn’t suppress the coy smile that grew on his.

Was that what she decided to call him?

In all fairness, he never did once tell her his name.  And he did indeed kidnap her.

A low chuckle rumbled in his throat before he set the papers down to lock eyes with her.

“Risotto.”  He watched as her eyes widened and she tilted her head just the slightest bit.  “My name is Risotto.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There were a few times in her life that she was left speechless and without the constant distraction of her mind running amok with how to phrase, describe or speak of certain things that happened around her.

This was one of those times.

Her kidnapper typically would read her story and comment on certain things after he finished reading-- providing her a great joy in how he would relay his appreciation of certain characters, plot choices and decisions she made throughout the work.

Perhaps the singular instance of his feedback on her work, a rare instance in which her reader would tell her their thoughts on the story, made her feel needy to garner his thoughts immediately after he read it.

To her mild horror, he didn’t say anything and started to re-read through her pages again.

She knew that this man didn’t express much emotions, so she took immense joy at the instances in which he would let out a small chuckle or show the faintest smile on his lips.

The chair must have turned into pins and needles as she watched the very evident dissatisfaction and annoyance grow on his face near the end of the last page; he had immediately turned the page over and started to re-read the entire thing again.

“U-um-”  She wanted to ask him what was wrong.

Did she write an unsatisfactory ending?  Was there something that he didn’t like?

Her anxiety spun uncontrollably as the mere thought of him being dissatisfied made her stomach uncomfortable as she could nearly feel the blueberries and coffee churn in the pit of her abdomen.

“U-uh, Signore?”  She tried to get his attention again.  She could feel the trembles and shivers of anxiousness manifesting itself in physical form as she failed to get him to respond to her yet again.

He didn’t tell her his name.  How was she to call for him.

Without thinking too much, she said the most immediate thing that came to her mind.

“Mr. Kidnapper?”

He finally looked up at her.

Did that actually make him respond to her.  A mixture of shock, embarrassment and satisfaction at finally getting him to look up must have made for the world’s most silly face.

The small upturn of his lips into a coy smile and the tilt of his eyebrow in mild amusement obliterated any coherent thought from her mind as her ears were enveloped with the sudden thundering of her heart.

The low chuckle that resonated in the silent room sent radiating shivers down her spine.

To her, it seemed like an eternity before he decided to speak.

“Risotto.”

Risotto?  Her eyes widened and her head tilted in mild confusion.

“My name is Risotto,” she heard him speak again.

“R-risotto,” she felt his name annunciate on her tongue.

He smiled at her-- interlacing his fingers in front of him as he leaned in slightly towards her.  “Yes?”

Despite her lips moving to mouth the words she wanted to speak, her voice came out unsteady and the only thing that could be heard was a jumble of mumbles and stammers that lack comprehensible composition.

“It was a good story.”  He seemed to already know what she wanted to ask.  “I thought that there would be more to the end, that’s all.”

Ah, so that was it.

She was still flustered.  Her cheeks were still hot as she marinated and stewed her emotions.

Tucked away in a corner of her notebook was a small blurb for the story’s ending.  She had left it out of the sheets of the story that she had presented, but wrote it to give her some amount of closure and peace of mind.

Walking back to the bedroom and finding the folded sheet of paper that she had tucked away in the nightstand, she handed it to him shyly.

The change in his expressions were encaptivating as he saw his eyes glimmer with faint amusement when he took the paper from her.

But before he had the chance to open it and read the contents, his phone rang.

She watched as he quickly stood up and left the room to answer it, slightly bothered by the postponement of watching him read and react.

She barely heard his voice in the other room, but it didn’t seem as though he spoke much.  He soon came back.

“I have something to attend to, but I’ll be back to check up on you in the evening.”

There was a slight disappointment that befell her as she felt an irksome prickle in her chest that closely resembled annoyance.

“O-oh ok-”

“Do you need anything?  I brought you some groceries earlier this morning, but if you want, I can get you whatever else you’d like.”

He had put his phone away and was preparing to depart.

A small portion of her mind wanted to ask him if she was allowed to go home finally, but there was a strange reluctance to form that thought into words.

“N-no, I’m alright.  Thank you,” she managed to say instead.

She watched as he made his way towards the door-- an uncomfortable feeling clenched at her chest.

“Ah.”  His grip on the door knob slackened as he turned around to face her.  “I almost forgot this.”

Reaching into a nearly unnoticeable pocket on his coat, he pulled out a meticulously wrapped parcel and held it out for her.

“I got you this.”

Her eyes widened as she took the gift into her hands with pleasant surprise.

“O-oh!  T-Thank you.”

He smiled before turning back around and closing the door shut behind him.

There was almost no time for her to react otherwise.

She stood there for a few moments, simply staring at the door before she was brought back to reality.

A smile found itself onto her face as she clutched the box fondly.

She wondered what he got her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ END CHP 6 ~~~~~~~~~~~

Risotto was surprised to get the call from Ghiaccio telling him that they managed to catch the guy.

He had just read the story detailing their mission just moments prior and was shocked at how quick the execution was.

“AND WE FINALLY GOT THAT FUCKIN’ PAY RAISE-!” he heard Ghiaccio scream to him over the phone.  “IT’S ABOUT TIME WE GOT SOME FUCKIN’ RECOGNITION FOR ALL OF THE FUCKIN’ WORK WE DO!”

Risotto had to hold the phone several centimeters away from his ear to avoid going deaf as he continued to listen to Ghiaccio explain the success of them being able to trace down the traitor.  The boss, surprised that the team had gone out of their own accord to hunt down the traitor for him, wired a good sum of money straight into the team’s account alongside an email expressing his thanks.

Risotto was sure that good fortune such as this would have never graced them if he had not an external force in play.

“I’ll be there in an hour,” was his response.

He hung up the phone and made his way back into the dining room area where he saw her anxiously looking at him to ascertain the situation.

“I have something to attend to, but I’ll be back to check up on you in the evening.”  He avoided looking at her and kept his words brief.

The cold and calculating side of him spoke words of reassurance that he didn’t need to feel anything for tricking her into doing stuff like this for him.  She would technically be dead by now if it weren’t for him.

But those words did nothing to console him as a strange guilt rooted itself in his mind.

Her stuttered words imbued with confusion nagged at a conscience that he had thought he lost many years ago.

He found himself with his hand on the door and ready to leave before he knew it.

Right as he began to turn the knob, he could feel the slight press of a box against his leg.

Her present.

 “Ah.  I forgot this,” he muttered to himself.  He let go of the doorknob and pulled the present out from his pocket.  “I got you this.”

He watched as her expression morphed into appreciation and gratitude as she took it from him-- happiness evident on her face.

Risotto felt a smile unconsciously manifest onto his face.  It was unfortunate that he couldn’t stick around for too much longer.

He opened the front door and left.

He watched as his men cheered and celebrated around the center table.

Risotto had taken out the whisky-- pouring it into the rarely used glass cups that was only taken out for extremely special occasions.

“Let’s make a toast to celebrate our achievements today.”

Glasses were raised as everyone took a swig of the strong alcohol.

“Pesci, Pesci, Pesci, you got to learn how to drink.” “I’m sorry, bro!”  Pesci was already queasy when he took the first sip and Prosciutto was already criticizing him for it.  “It burns my throat…”

Formaggio laughed as he pat Prosciutto on the shoulder.  “Cmon, don’t give Pesci a hard time!  We’re supposed to be happy!  It’s a celebration!”  He was on his second cup already and had gotten twice as loud in his festivities.

Prosciutto sighed as he leaned back against the couch, leaving Pesci to swirl his cup around and watch the amber drink race around the clear glass.

“Fine.”  He ran his hand through his blonde hair, careful to not undo and mess up the tight braids that held his hair neatly back.  “This is a rare celebration.  To think that we were the ones that caught the bastard…”

“Right?”  Illuso smirked as he leaned forward to input his fair share of the gossip.  “All the other teams that the boss sent couldn’t catch the guy.  But we-”  he put heavy emphasis on the ‘we’.  “We did.”

“OF COURSE WE DID!”  Ghiaccio slammed down his glass on the table.  “WE’RE BETTER THAN ALL OF THOSE OTHER BASTARDS!  WE’RE THE HITMAN TEAM!  THE BOSS SHOULD HAVE SENT FIRST!”

“That is our job, after all,” Sorbet mused as he poured Gelato some more whiskey.  “I don’t know why he chose to send every other team besides us?”

“He doesn’t trust us, probably,” came Gelato’s begrudging answer.  The lighter haired man stared at the whiskey in his glass with distaste.  “This turn of events definitely helped us though.”

“Wouldn’t that mean Risotto telling us to go catch the guy was rather risky on his part then?”  Melone mused as he reclined back in his seat.

Suddenly all eyes were on him.

Risotto took a sip of the whiskey in his glass and didn’t answer.

He couldn’t tell them that he made things play out in this exact fashion.  He had already sent them out to gather information on the man yesterday afternoon before he had even commissioned the story.  From having the man successfully evade the other teams that the boss had sent, giving Risotto the ability to gain permission from the boss to send in his team, and having his team flawlessly capture the target leaving the boss completely satisfied with the work done, everything played out perfectly.

He smirked as he pondered over the thoughts.

His team took that for an answer as they all looked at him in awe.

He knew that he had his secret little author to attribute this success to.  Risotto would get her something nice later.

Speaking of which, despite thoroughly enjoying the celebration of his team’s success, he wanted to get back to her as soon as possible.

He excused himself from the room and proceeded up to his office to finish up some paperwork before heading off.

He entered the office quietly, noting that there was something on his desk for him.

It was a small, wrapped parcel waiting for him on his desk, and he wondered if one of his men had left it there.

Unwrapping the parcel, he was met with the sight of a mahogany name plate with the words, ‘Best Leader’ embossed on the gold plate.

Risotto let out a perplexed chuckle wondering if this event had any correlation to the writings that had essentially dictated his day thus far.

Pulling the small sheet of paper out from his coat and unfurling it, he looked down at the neat print of the paper tucked in his hands and read:

‘Together, the team put together their funds and before their leader arrived back at base, they placed their present on his desk for him.  In the best wrapping job that they could muster, the nameplate that they had picked out for him to commemorate their success.  This would be the one of their first steps in attaining the respect that they deserved.’

Risotto smiled as he tucked the paper away and arranged the nameplate to a good spot on his desk.

“You could have had them just shut up for a week,” he mused.

~~~~~~~~ END CHP 7 ~~~~~~~~~~

[theorynexus]

This would seem to bring us to Post Number 60, the 62nd post of this series, if you count the decimalized ones.

LAST TIME ON MEAT EPILOGUE It would seem we are returning to John and Terezi, this time--- wooo!~   Apparently, he looks pretty bad. This is unfortunate. On the other hand:  YES, MEAT EPILOGUE CHAPTER/SECTION 6!!!

Hey, don’t try to shame John for being the sub in this situation. It’s not like he has experience with that kind of thing (not that it’s something generally to be ashamed of: I’m just saying that it is something he seems to be somewhat embarrassed about, and his inexperience meant that it wasn’t exactly by choice on his part--- which is not to suggest that Terezi molested him in any way).  Aaaannnd Trolls (especially highbloods) are supposed to be particularly vicious in nature, generally, right? It makes a whole lot of sense that that would extend to the bedroom, as well.

... But yeah, that doesn’t help with his health. He was already doing pretty badly, just after the surgery. He didn’t really need that sort of mess tacked on afterward.     Oh, and... why “mysteriously” sticky, you derp? XD

And I am glad you were kidding.   (That slapping was very interesting to hear. Hmmm.)      Yeah, him being confused and uncertain about it also feels just about right~ ~~~ On a random note, I am reading this just after going through the memo where Karkat, John, and Dave were talking about romance/the propagation of the species, and KK insisted that John and Dave stay away from troll women.    That makes this all wonderfully hilarious, in retrospect. 

Huh. I’ve never seen “cuckold” used in that sort of context before.  Indeed, this is quite the question, though.  Could John Egbert handle a blackrom? A caligionous one, at that?   A very hard question, that is.   I’m not sure he’s emotionally capable of giving himself into the kinds of hate and playful ribbing that would be constantly involved in that kind of relationship, if healthy.  I suspect it might have been just a particularly violent flushed thing, though.  We’ll see.

Pffft. Slithers.   That said:  Huh. I was not expecting that turn. Let’s see where this goes~

Oh my gosh, Dirk, would you stop being such a downer? XD I think this is indeed very, very cute~     Soul-shattering is a weird sort of term to use there, for a normal person. Seems right for Dirk, though. He understands the nuances of how shattering can be more or less than a whole break.

That is practically the definition of a subjective judgment.  I know you’re being ironic and all, but come on, man, that’s just base as heck. But yeah, I think he might have it bad, indeed. 

The question here is, “Does he mean to suggest that Andrew Hussie is God to him, or does he mistakenly [in the context of Homestuck, which has given no distinct evidence for it] believe that there was a God that he actually usurped?”   “replaced” is a very interesting and useful word, here, given the working interpretation that I have is indeed that he is interpreting AH as God and likely believes him to have abandoned Homestuck, thus removed himself from his directorial capacity over its narrative, until he managed to take over.

WHY ARE NEITHER OF YOU THINKING OF RETCON-PORTING IN TO RESCUE HER FROM HER DEMISE BEFORE IT HAPPENS?!?!?!? But yeah, you really should get home and recover first, if it is possible.

Whoops. Not a good sign. Noooot a good sign.

The Power of Three is a very strong thing.

Here we gooooooo!!!~    The first time (I think) that I’ve continued a post beyond one page!!!

No.  Also, probably Jake English. He has strange effects on people.

Wow, someone’s a bit miffed.  That said: Hooray, acknowledgement by the narrative! :’D

I do not appreciate your repeated suggestions that Jake is dumb! That said: No. No, I do not want to engage in wanton promiscuity with such a man.  I am, to put it quite simply, not interested in meaningless sexual encounters with people I am not deeply connected with. Even if I had such a bond with Jake English, I would not be inclined to engage in such activities. Quite frankly, I am not exactly partial to the type of equipment he sports. As for the political side of things... well, that’s complicated. Yeah, people can indeed become far too energized by the attractiveness of candidates and those associated with them, rather than their substance.  Maybe that’s the case, here.   I’d like to think that the actual results of the election will in fact prove people wrong. Maybe there will be exit polls that we can see excerpts of to judge things for certain.   I don’t know~

FINALLY, SOMEONE FRICKING ADMIRES THE SUFFERER!!!

Eh?  I mean, I guess even Dave and Karkat were acknowledging the possibility of a misstep. We’ll see what happens.

Heee’s probably gonna try to sabotage this, isn’t he?   Also, I wish I were more familiar with human muscle anatomy.

“The Kibosh” is a good phrase to use.  That said:  ***snerk***    It’s like Karkat has wedding day jitters. XD

Man, it is annoying how spiteful you are toward him, Dirk. Can you give him a break for just a second?   I mean, you probably caused the sweating to begin with.

Wow. Such dudebroism, which I just suddenly realized/-membered Dirk was supposed to slightly embody, somewhat.  (I blame Gamebro Magazine, and the sharp contrast between the diction there and Dirk’s writing style.) That is a funny description, though, the brain-tonguing.  Also, gosh, Jake is nervous.

Oh, hey, I think Dave’s going to finally get a feel for the Narrative, and maybe end up confronting Dirk.  That will be incredibly interesting.

Wow, this is getting to him.  It’s like he’s made of sugar, and someone’s just begun to drizzle water on him.  Or maybe made of witch.

***lip curls up in a snarl***    Dave better make this quick.  I am somehow edging on more angry at this Unreliable Narrator than I was before Alt!Calliope took over...!

Well, that’s, umm... interesting. Particularly, the cultivated Obfuscating Stupidity bit. But moreso the fact that Dirk will acknowledge he’s smarter than he seems.

Yes... I think I most definitely am more furious than ever at this piece of garbage, now.  After the sweet taste of freedom that Jake was finally able to feel, and the burst of confidence he’d found in it, you pour all of this blithering waste on him?   Jane was trying to use him!   I’m sure she hasn’t loved him for a long time, and even then, I Jake never toyed with her heart intentionally, I’m sure!   Grrrrr...!

Honestly, though, he brings up a complicated and intriguing question.  Jake has definitely been used and abused throughout his history, and at least part of his recent activity to exploit his Hope-y Assets must have been Dirk’s doing, but how much of his sexually promiscuous revelry has actually been something that he would not and did not choose, say, as a result of his drinking problem, rather than him reveling in his identity as a   

WORLD RENOWNED EXPLORER-NATURALIST-TREASURE HUNTER-ARCHEOLOGIST-SCIENTIST-ADVENTURER-BIG GAME HUNTER-BILLIONAIRE EXTRAORDINAIRE 

 just as your pre-Scratch self was?  Regardless of the level of culpability he actually has in the matters of his life, he is nowhere near deserving of this kind of shaming, and Dirk should be ashamed of himself for this kind of disgusting behavior which he is almost certainly engaging in specifically to throw Jake off.

Oh, also, victim blaming is BS, and the answer is an unequivocal, “You, you insincere, megalomaniacal, self-justifying dirtbag.”

***is so fricking ANGRY that it is taking a great deal of willpower not to release a roar of primal fury and break my hand on my computer screen*** THIS IS NOT HOW HEALTHY RELATIONSHIPS WORK!!! THAT IS NOT HOW SOMEONE WHO IS ACTUALLY WILLING TO SUBMIT TO YOU LIKE THAT WILL BEHAVE, YOU FFF---     ***RRRRRGH!!!***

YOU HAD BETTER NOT FRICKING LISTEN TO THIS GARBAGE, JAKE!!! RESIST HIS INFLUENCE, AND---         Huh. The thought just occurred to me that both Dave and Jake could be interpreted as stand-ins for Simon, if Dirk were Kamina (despite how different Kamina’s personality is from Dirk’s), because Simon really seems like he could be interpreted as a Page of Hope too, for some reason (but curse my ADHD! XwX)   ---AND DEFEAT HIM WITH YOUR HOPE BUBBLE!!!

...  At least he apologized. For what that is worth.    This is going to seem so obvious to Dave, though.  Obviously, he isn’t going to kill his Bro, but... well, let’s see how things turn out. Hmm. Also, this is hilarious insofar as it derailed the press conference and probably took away much of the steam that could have been generated for the Karkat/Vantas ticket by Jake’s endorsement, but it doesn’t exactly do all that much for Jane Crocker’s side, either.  It was a very sickening and weird spectacle, but I am not sure how it will actually play out in their favor?   Seems like it might cause Jane’s side trouble, and might cause tensions between them.

I still can never consistently remember what “smh” means. But yes, “HICCUP???” is right.   STOP HIM, DAVE!!!  

TACKLE HIM AWAY INTO THE FUTURE!!!

Realistically, he should have no problem with speed at all. Time power shown a la cheating with Jade in games should let him get there instantly, and even his flash step that he has shown since before entering the Game should allow him to get there on time.      Man, Dirk is a prick about manipulating things. Especially since we are going to see things derailed and shift to another setting, right when Jake is supposedly going to make the biggest contribution he’ll ever make.  WHICH DOESN’T EVEN FRICKING MAKE SENSE!!!

[lakinda5654]

~~~~A Girl and A God~~~~ Chapter 7- Cold Coffee and Pancakes

—————————————————

A Girl and A God is a RATED M Loki Fanfic with an original character, Alexa, who is taken in by Tony Stark after the revelation of abilities of her own. There’s sex, romance, heartbreak, action, fluff, angst, all that good stuff. Full description in blog, and a jump-to-chapter list if you just want the smut or the cuteness bits. Enjoy <3

Chapter Summary: Alexa meets more of the team, gains her next power phase, and tries to revisit the man that saved her…

Contains: mostly plot development/ character growth

Word Count: 1,436

~Previous Chapter~~Next Chapter~

~~Beginning of Story~~

—————————————————

The next morning, Alexa arrived early in the grand hall where she was told to go for breakfast. The food wasn’t ready yet, she could tell by the empty buffet counter and the sound of cooks working away in the next room. She was grateful that her phone had been on her during her explosion, though it suffered a cracked screen probably from her fall, it was still functional. It had been sitting on her bedside table along with a bag of her original clothes when she woke up that morning. She had, in fact, decided to go to sleep, even though she didn’t need to. She just got bored without being able to leave the tower yet. 

As Alexa played games on her phone to kill time, she heard footsteps. Someone else was early to breakfast too.

“Hello.” The man had a kind voice and sort of awkward demeanor. She recognized him, and now that she was less distracted, she got a better read on his soul. 

She always tried not to make it obvious that that was what she was doing, but sometimes it was hard to hide. “Hi,” she said quietly. She didn’t know how she’d failed to notice it before, but this man had an experience very similar to hers. A loss of control that caused others pain. And the grief was heavy.

“Doctor Banner, right?” Alexa tried to hide her distraction.

“Yes,” he said. He proceeded to make small talk with her about how she was liking the place, and how she slept. But then he brought up something she hadn’t thought of.

“So, if you do work with us, what will you call yourself?” She looked at him, appearing a bit confused. “Alexa...?”

“Oh, no, I mean, you know… like your cover name”

Oh. Alexa hadn’t considered this. Were they really accepting her onto their team that quickly? Or had he made assumptions…

Beyond that, she hadn’t even thought about using her powers for good ever before. She was always shamed so heavily for them and using them at all usually resulted in a beating. It would take some getting used to.

“Oh, um, I don’t know.” She replied quietly. She’d never been good at thinking up things like that. “I’m sure I’ll figure it out. But I didn’t know that I was going to be part of the…” she paused. “team…?”

Banner looked surprised and embarrassed “Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t know if anyone had spoken to you. It sounded like Tony was thinking that you’d be a great addition. As long as we just are cautious on the days that you…” he stopped as if trying to phrase it in a way that wasn’t offensive. Alexa finished for him. “Lose control. It’s ok to say it.” She said with a warm smile. “I still have control of my mind, it’s just the powers themselves go haywire”

“Right” Banner said. It was then that the door opened again. Steve and Natasha. They smiled warmly and sat down a couple chairs, on the other side of the table.

Alexa continued to chat with Banner until the food came out. They all grabbed their helpings of eggs, bacon, toast, and pancakes. As she ate, the rest of the group trickled in over the next hour and grabbed their servings as well. The meal was quiet other than occasional chatter among those who were close, relationship-wise or physically. 

“When do they let Loki eat?” She asked Banner quietly. He took a moment to swallow his food. “They have a kitchen worker take him a plate after we’re done” 

Alexa nodded, disappointed.

At the end of the meal, Tony stood up.

“New girl,” he said commandingly and waved his hand for him to follow her. Alexa quickly stood and looked around for where to put her plate, until she saw that Tony had left his own on the table, so she set it down and hurried after him. They entered the elevator and went up to the meeting and observation room where she had first been introduced to everyone.

“So.” Tony started. As you know we’re thinking the best thing for us to do is keep you here. For the safety of everyone including you. And in the future…” he took a sip of his coffee. “Possibly become part of the Avengers. If you can learn to control all of those abilities you mentioned... Gah, this shit is cold.” Tony set his coffee on the table in front of him.

I can fix that. Alexa thought. Then she realized that she in actually could. She was in a whole new world and no one would hurt her for using her abilities. And she was growing into her heat and fire phase now and fading out of soul sight... she could certainly heat up a small cup of liquid.

So she looked at the cup, quite focused, and made a slow rising motion with two of her fingers. Steam rose from the mug.

Stark watched her, fascinated and also slightly intimidated.

“It’s hot now,” she said sheepishly. “and yes, if it’s ok, I’d like to stay here long term. I don’t have anyone else to go to. But I don’t know about the whole Avengers thing yet… I just don’t think I’d be good enough.” Tony looked at her. “Natasha’s here and her ass is normal. Toned but normal. You have…” he paused and gestured at her hands “this. Trust me, you’ll be just fine.” He stood up, picked up his hot coffee, patted her shoulder, and left the room.

As soon as he was gone, Alexa quickly made her way to the hall. They take him a plate after the others are done. Maybe if she asked the cooks, she could take it to him today instead. But as she was about to enter the elevator, it dinged and a woman in an apron carrying a plate stepped out. It was then that Alexa realized it wasn’t just the leftovers from this morning. The food wasn’t even reheated in a microwave. A cold pancake with nothing on it, a glass of water, and a very brown banana. The cooks must hate him… she thought. That was reasonable… they could have lost family members due to his actions. She thought of the pain in serving meals to a man that killed your child…

But still- she wanted to believe something wasn’t right about the whole thing. He wouldn’t do that… she’d seen his soul.

She smiled and stepped past her, entering the elevator. as the woman’s footsteps quickly and quietly tapped down the echoic hall, Alexa jumped out and hopped into the stairwell. As quietly as she could, Alexa turned and peeked around the corner. The woman punched in the code 5-6-5-4. Yes! She’d seen it. Perfect. Then she quickly jumped back into the stairwell and waited until she heard the elevator doors close behind the woman.

But now what? How would she explain why she stole a code just to open his door? She didn’t know the answer, but she knew she wanted to see him. He was leaning against a wall of his cell, legs outstretched on the cold floor. There was a button to speak to him. Shaking, she pushed it in with her finger and held it there.

“Hi Loki”

He looked surprised, looking to the wall she knew he could not see through. After his surprise seemed to fade, he responded.

“What in Valhalla do you want?”

He was cold. Calloused. Stubborn. It had taken all of her bravery even to try to speak to him, let alone to explain herself.

“I just, um”

He raised his eyebrows towards the wall in irritation.

“Is your, um…food hot?” She stuttered.

“No, it’s never bloody hot all they give me is leftovers no one else wants days after it was cooked.”

She looked through the forcefield, wondering if her powers would work through it. She knew they worked through glass…

After a moment, Loki heard, “how about now?”

“Oh what do you even…” he had started to yell but stopped when he saw his plate steaming. He held his hand over it just to be sure. It was hot, at least his pancake was. Then he looked back at the wall. He knew he should say thank you, but refused to. He was a god. He shouldn’t have to thank anyone for his food to be hot in the first place. He turned from the wall and ate.

Alexa watched him and once she was sure it had worked, she left.

[jinterlude]

Two Faced (Ch.1)

↳ gif header is made by © @softjeon. Please don’t try and steal it and make it your own.

➵ Pairing(s): Gang!Jungkook x Female!OC & Gang!Mark Lee x Female!OC x Gang!Seokjin

➵ Genre(s):  College!AU, Mafia/Gang!AU, Angst, Romance, Friendship, Humor, Love Triangle & Slight-Fluff

➵ Warning(s): None for this chapter

➵ Words: 4.7K

➵ Co-writer: @softjeon​

➵ Summary: Two girls. Two gangs. One craved absolute control over the city of Seoul. While, the other simply craved sleep and good grades. Now, what do these two ladies have in common? Simple. They have nothing in common—or so they think. Everyone knows the saying, “never judge a book by its cover”, so maybe there is something more to these two than meets the eye…especially when one of them is suddenly thrown into the underground life. Loyalties will be tested. Romance will blossom. Yup. Sounds like an average college day…

« Previously | Next Time »

Chapter 1 - Polar Opposites

Sounds of heels clicking on the red-brick paths of the campus were heard, as a young woman pushed her hair out of her face. She opened the door and headed down the corridor, with it’s usual bulletin boards announcing faculty openings, classroom assignments, club meetings and everything else she didn’t care about. She went down the stairwell, glancing around to see if anyone was following her, before she continued a short distance down another corridor, which was empty except for a janitor working at the far end. She smiled. Walking past him, she reached into the man’s pocket unseen, taking out a little paper that the woman shoved deep into the pocket of her leather jacket, before the man disappeared as well.

Turning around, the young woman almost jumped when a boy with glasses smiled up at her.

“Did you fill out the roommate application, yet?” He said as he waved a little pen in her face. The unknown woman pulled away just a bit with this slight grimace. Hasn’t this dude ever heard of personal space? In area of expertise, he’s quite luckily that she hadn’t taken the pin and stab him in the hand---maybe even his throat.

A blanket of silence covered the two of them. For his safely, she took the chance to calm herself down. The last thing she wanted was to hurt someone, and it hadn’t even been a full day yet. With a heavy sigh, she took the pen from him. The woman forced up a smile and scribbled down her name quickly.

“There you go, sweety,” She licked her lips slowly and winked at the young boy before she turned to walk up to the double swing doors at the end of the corridor.

She didn’t hear the boy warning her about the alarm anymore. She wouldn’t have cared either way.

On the other hand, a certain woman cared. This loud, obnoxious sound continued to buzz. A constant ringing noise entered her ears; thus, interrupting her precious sleep. A certain luxury that she couldn’t afford in her line of academics. The world of criminal justice took a toll on her health, but it would be worth it knowing that she’d help put away cold-hearted criminals. Just like her mother…

A faint groan escaped her lips. Yeah...she honestly didn’t want to get out of the comforts that was her bed. Why? Well, sleep was a rarity that she cherished whenever she could.

She flung the covers off her, exposing her skin to the cool air that circulated her room. A slight shiver occurred throughout her body causing the poor girl to quickly cover her arms. She quickly glanced at her clock and thanked the stars that a majority of her fellow students were still sound asleep. She didn’t have to fight for the hot water. She could enjoy taking her sweet ass time.

How on Earth were they able to sleep through the annoying alarm was beyond her…

She shuffled towards her closet and opened it. Her eyes scanned the contents that hid behind the doors.

“Okay...Sumin...what kind of look are we thinking of today?” She thought as she tapped her chin lightly.

She began to hum to herself as she flipped through each hanger. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to sport her usual go-to look. Her go-to look usually consisted of a nice blouse, a dark-colored skirt, and a simple pair of one inch heels.

However, that would be boring if she constantly wore the same combination of clothing every single day.

Nah.

Time to go bold.

Sumin swiftly flipped to her jeans section and chose a pair that were slightly “worn” out. Then, she picked out a plain band t-shirt and matching shoes. She carelessly tossed them on her bed before disappearing into her private bathroom. One of the many advantages of having a mother, who’s rather a generous alumni donor…

Meanwhile, on the other side of the campus, the young woman, from before, leaned against a dark red motorbike, staring at the screen of her phone.

“You have been assigned to a new roommate,” She read the email quietly once more, before she snapped her head around when some arms sneaked around her waist. “And you really think this is a good idea?” She asked, looking a bit unamused.

The man nodded, kissing her neck sweetly, before pushing her off his bike, earning himself a dark glance from her.

“Think of it as your own little college experience,” He began as he playfully winked at her, roaring the engine of his bike loudly, “Besides, it’s safer for now.” He finished.

Rolling her eyes at him, she crossed her arms in front of her chest. She knew he was right. Her own safety was priority now. Looking back over her shoulder, she eyed the campus building warily. But why did it have to be a boring college?

“Be here at 1 A.M. and don’t you dare be too late,” She smiled cheekily, her dark demeanor switching into a softer one, as she head off into the opposite direction.

Most students were off in their classes now, only a few were left walking around the campus either getting themselves some cheap coffee or trying to make it into class before the professor kicked them out.

Taking out a lollipop from her jacket, Sowon eyed the door she was standing in front of now.

“This is it, then.” She thought, opening the door with her assigned key, she walked in.

A huff escaped her lips,the instant she saw a variety of bright colors that decorated one part of the room. It was if someone took buckets of vibrant colored paints and threw it all over every single item. While,the other side was completely empty. Just one empty bed and a wardrobe. Any normal college student would start decorating and spice up their side of the room. Nope. Not Sowon. Instead of settling in on her side of the room, she casually sauntered over to her newly found roommate’s side━specifically━her drawer.

“Cute,” She chuckled as she opened it up, taking out a few of the things inside and mixing it up.

She eyed the bras and its size with a fond expression, before pushing it all back into the drawer. The woman only placed her bag at one corner of the room, before she went off again. She had better things to do. Obviously, attending class wasn’t one of them.

Thirty minutes later, after the departure of the rather confident woman ,a big cloud of steam slowly floated out of the bathroom. This feeling of complete and utter bliss entered her body as Sumin emerged from the hot bathroom, clutching a hot-pink towel. While she was currently alone in her dorm, she still felt paranoid that some pervert could be lurking about. She hurried over to her underwear drawer, oblivious to the fact that it had been slightly opened already. She pulled it open and picked out a random colored bra but made sure the panties matched. Sumin quickly glanced around her room before dropping her towel. She swiftly put on her undergarments, then walked over to her bed. She grabbed her clothes and covered her precious body as if her life depended it.

“Good job, Sumin!” She mentally cheered as she felt pleased with how swift she was in getting ready for her day. She shuffled her body towards her shoe rack and picked up her favorite pair of Converse.

She quickly tied them before rushing around the room to pack everything and anything she thought she’d need for her day filled with classes. She pulled out a few textbooks, a giant binder, her pouch of writing utensils, and her electronic chargers. That was Sumin’s way of being prepared. She always made sure to pack away every essential item.

Currently tucking away her laptop, she zipped up her backpack once the electronic was in its designated pouch. She grabbed her keys from the hook before dashing out of the door. She didn’t even care that she had forgotten to brush her hair and apply a bit of light makeup. She’d be the accurate description of a college student, and the funny thing was that it’s not even near the end of the academic year. The school year had barely just begun.

What a great impression she wanted to set for herself…

Now, strolling down the pathway, Sumin peered down at her watch, checking the time every other minute. Her mother had always expressed the importance of punctuality.

“If you are even a second late, then you have lost the battle.”

Ever since her mother had told her that, Sumin had pretty much tattooed that phrase into her mind.

That’s why she had never been late to anything in her life. She’s prepared to win any battle that would come her way…

Currently leaning against one wall of the corridor, a young woman’s gaze was fixated on something in the corner. A little camera. She bit into her apple once, when a mischievous smile appeared on her lips. They really made it too easy for her.

Pushing herself off, she didn’t notice the girl that ran frantically down the stairs and right into her direction. Yet the young woman didn’t move, instead, she kept her shoulder straight and walked along, forcing the other student to stumble into her. A small chuckle escaped her lips, while she didn’t even look back over her shoulder to see if the other needed help. Shrugging her shoulders, she kept her gaze fixated on the goal.

While one remained focus on a goal, the other had to unfortunately spend time adjusting her backpack strap again. As she done so, Sumin glanced over her shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of the rude person that failed to move out of her way. Alas, she didn’t. She only saw the person’s backside as she continued to much away on an unknown piece of fruit. From what she could make out, it seemed like an apple or some sort of round fruit. If she had more time on her hands, Sumin would march right up to the person and demand for an apology. However, there were two things wrong with that ideal situation. She didn’t have time, and she wasn’t very confrontational.

If only she had a bit more confidence, then she would definitely do that. Maybe she’d add that to her list of self-improvements that she had set for herself.

With a heavy sigh, she glanced at her watch, wondering how much more time she had left to make it to class fifteen minutes later. The second she looked, her eyes practically jumped out their sockets. She tightened her grip on the straps before hauling ass towards her first class. She just had to pick a class inside a building that was practically on the other side of the campus.

“Note to self: I am picking classes within a five minute walking distance next year.” She muttered to herself in between breaths. She’d also mentally add “start working out” to her list as well.

Honestly, she should start carrying a decent size notepad at the rate of how many mental notes she created.

While Sumin was busy writing down notes, the other woman was currently roaming through the drawer of the janitors room.

“Ha!” She exclaimed, now holding a little key in her hand━the one who would give her access to all the things she needed.

Taking a detailed picture with her phone, she send it off, hoping to have the copy of it soon in her hands. It would make it quite easier if she could come and go whenever she wanted and have access to the surveillance footage. Maybe she would need to get rid off it from time to time. Smiling to herself, the woman pushed her hair back over her shoulders as she retreated back to the room she could call her own now. Well, or hers and the one that her roommate owned. She could use a little nap. Sneaking around and in people’s stuff could be very tiring.

This sudden throbbing, painful sensation had been bugging her since her second-to-last class of the day. Yeah, that class had been over for almost four hours.

Because of the random headache, she could barely focus on her studies. Sumin had hope to go to the library after her last class and get some work done, but God apparently had other plans. Maybe this had been a sign for her to take a break. She already had been working herself to death, and it was only the second week of the school year.

Maybe it was the third week…?

Honestly, Sumin had forgotten the concept of understanding the calendar. She only knew of telling time, and that’s it.

With tired feet, she shuffled towards her door and inserted the key. She unlocked the door and pushed it open. She carelessly threw her set of keys on the tiny table, that’s placed nearby. She dropped her backpack in a random location before untying her shoes. She practically kicked them off and used the remaining energy she had left in her body to walk over to her bed. She flopped her body down, not knowing that there’s something or someone lying there as well. She buried her hands underneath the pillow and rubbed her cheek against the soft fabric of her pillow cover. Sumin could feel her eyes slowly flutter shut as the exhaustion took complete control over her body.

Just as she allowed her body to enjoy this short little nap, that it desperately wanted, she something wrap around her stomach. Sumin’s eyes immediately shot open; her heart raced against her chest. She tried to struggle against the tight grip, but it only caused the hold to strengthen.

“Oh, my God…Oh, my God…” Sumin chanted softly over and over, unsure how to get out this rather sticky situation.

She tried freeing herself once more, but it seemed that it was the final straw. She had woken up the thing that invaded her personal space.

“Oh...hello cutie,” Sumin heard a soft mumble, causing her to peek up, “Didn’t think we would get this close so quickly…” The invader finished, releasing Sumin from the strong grip.

Sumin slowly turned her head to look right into the eyes of another woman. Their noses almost touched with how close they were lying in bed that was for sure not made for two people to lay in at the same time. Before Sumin could tumble off the edge, the girl snug her arm around her waist again and kept her close.

“Hi, I’m Sowon,” The girl smiled and propped herself up on her elbow. “Your blanket was really fluffy, though I am not really one that likes pink…I just had to try it. Also, it was way easier to just sleep in your bed than making mine,” Sowon happily chatted, before climbing over Sumin, a bit way too close for the poor girl’s liking, as she hopped out of the bed,

“Hope you don’t mind.” Sowon added, reaching for her bag, she opened it, placing a few little things on her own nightstand. A book, a phone and another phone, before Sowon reached in to get out the bed sheets. Just when she finished making her own bed, the girl turned around again.

“Oh, by the way, I’m your new roommate.” She suddenly announced, smiling brightly.

Sumin stared at Sowon, feeling both confused yet excited to know that she has a roommate. Before, she had been alone in her dorm room. Every year Sumin would politely ask her R.A. if it would be possible to request a roommate, but every year they would always answer her with a big fat no.

When she had asked them for an explanation, the head R.A told her that it was a part of school regulation, especially since, years prior to her enrollment, many students had chosen the opposite gender to be their roommate.

Yeah…

That worked swell…

Now, she was quite happy to know that finally the school system had assigned her a potential lifelong buddy.

Sumin shyly smiled and held out her hand towards Sowon. Her mother always said,

“The first step into establishing a great connection is a firm handshake…”

Sowon perked her eyebrow, eyeing Sumin’s hand strangely. The fuck did she want her to do with it? The rather petite girl in front of her couldn’t possibly have enough strength to initiate in a surprise attack if she were to grab it.

Maybe she wanted a simple handshake?

That’s a rather odd request━especially since they weren’t sealing a deal right now. She reached out for Sumin’s hand anyways, shaking her hand rather roughly with a sweet smile. Sowon nodded, when Sumin introduced herself, but other than that she didn’t care about the girl that much. She needed to put a few clothes into her own drawer, just to make sure that everything looked like someone was actually living here. Sowon really didn’t want to look too suspicious.

When Sowon finished “decorating” her own side, she jumped up her bed, looking over to Sumin who was still watching her rather confused. Winking at her roommate playfully, Sowon laid back and got out her phone to see if she had gotten any new messages. Maybe Taehyung had finished remaking the key already? Yet Sowon didn’t get that far, when she noticed Sumin peeking over to her, so she sighed and locked her phone screen again.

“So, tell me about yourself, Sunshine,” Sowon teased her, referring to her rather light and colorful decor that only underlined Sumin’s cheerful character.

A pinkish hue crept on the girl’s cheek as a tiny noise escaped her lips. Sumin grew shy at the sudden nickname Sowon had “kindly” bestowed onto her. She played with the hem of her t-shirt; her eyes remained glued on the floor.

“Well, there’s not really much to me. I was raised by a single mother since I was four-years-old,” Sumin began, glancing around the room, “She’s the best lawyer in her district. I strive to be like her one day; hence, why I am currently studying criminal justice. Then, I plan on taking my BAR exams afterwards.” She stated, unintentionally earning Sowon’s undivided attention.

Sowon raised her brow as a rather intriguing idea began to formulate in her head. She could always use someone with the knowledge of how the law works. Maybe Sumin wasn’t so bad.

“You said that you were raised by a single mom, what happened to your dad? Was he one of those baby daddies that leave their pregnant girl behind?” She asked, wanting to know more about her roomie.

Sumin’s body flinched; her breath hitched just a smidge. How should she bring up something so fragile? She barely met this person, and now she wanted to know her life story? Well, not her entire life story, but an important detail that she had never shared with anyone in all of her years living on this planet.

At the same, it wouldn’t hurt to tell her roomie something personal, right? They were about to be stuck together for the rest of their school career. Might as well get along.

“Um...well...you see...he’s dead…” Sumin said, muttering the last part.

Sowon gave Sumin a look, cupping her ear.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that? I didn’t quite hear you.” She requested, not meaning to be a tad rude.

Sumin flashed a sad smile, “He died when I was four-years-old.”

Sowon pursed her lips, relating a little to the whole “death of a loved one”. Her mother is dead as well. 

“Do you know what happened?” She asked, though, quickly berating herself for wanting to pry. 

Sumin’s smile faded and was soon replaced with this solemn expression. 

“Sadly, I do not. That is something my mother refuses to tell me. All I have ever gotten is that my dad had died due to unfortunate circumstances, and that’s it.” She explained, “I knew better to push the topic any further.” She added. 

Sowon couldn’t help but nod slowly. Her mouth practically sewn shut. What else could there be said after that?

Nothing…that’s what…

“I’m sorry…” Sowon mumbled, unsure how to progress the conversation.

Sumin smiled softly, “It’s fine. I have kept that bottled up for so long that it is honestly nice to allow a little bit of that to surface. Thanks.”

Sowon returned the smile before walking over to her side of the room. She hadn’t forgotten about checking her phone to see if she had any new updates. Sumin was distracted so now would be the perfect time to try again.

She subtly glanced over her shoulder, noticing Sumin putting on her headphones and scrolling on her phone. Once she saw Sumin nodding her head to the muffled music, Sowon pulled out her phone and unlocked it. A smile formed at her lips when she saw the encoded message from Taehyung. He had made it once again. It was sometimes so surreal how quick the boy worked and made sure she had a copy of every key that she wanted. He was really good at his job.

An even bigger smile appeared on her face, when she saw the next message, or rather the picture of her boyfriend laying on their shared bed, pursing his lips into a pout that he had sent to her.

[To Jungkookie 07:27 PM]: You already miss me that bad, huh? I thought this was your idea for me to pretend to be a good student?

[From Jungkookie 07:29 PM]: Don’t remind me! I already regret it! [From Jungkookie 07:29 PM]: But tell me...is your roommate suitable for a threesome or do we have to keep looking?

Sowon rolled her eyes at the message, knowing that her boyfriend liked to tease her. Oh well, they were quite kinky━but Sowon was sure that her sweet roommate wasn’t one for threesomes. The girl shrugged her shoulders, before typing her answer. A small giggle leaving her lips, making Sumin turn her attention back to Sowon. The sudden change in Sowon’s demeanor piqued Sumin’s interest.

[To Jungkookie 07:33 PM]: She’s pure. Let her be! Now focus on the important stuff, babe….which is me. [From Jungkookie 07:34 PM]: Got you, baby.

Sowon closed the chat again and only then noticed Sumin peeking over her shoulder, making her jerk away. How the fuck didn’t she notice the other? Was she always this quiet? And she really needed to get her own head out of the clouds whenever she was talking to Jungkook.

“Is that your boyfriend?” Sumin asked, pointing at the candid photo that Sowon used as her screensaver, that she had shot one morning when Jungkook had looked too delicious. The sun making his abs look golden, his cheeky smile, his messy hair…

“Hm?” Sowon shook herself out of her thoughts before she nodded, “Yeah...he’s mine. Crazy right? Can’t believe it either...though I’m quite a catch, too” Sowon winked at Sumin, pushing her own boobs up with her hands to underline her own compliment. She laughed freely, as she jumped up her own bed and tugged her feet under.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Sowon asked bluntly, taking out a nail file to take care of her already perfectly manicured nails.

Sumin shook her head with the most innocent expression ever to grace her face.

“Never had one.” She replied shortly.

The other girl just raised an eyebrow at that and shrugged her shoulders.

“Doesn’t matter. I have a few friends that probably be interested in a sweet, little innocent sunshine like you.” Sowon said; her voice laced with this sensuous tone.

Sumin’s eyes widened, almost to the size of giant saucers. There she goes with that nickname again. Why was she being called, “little innocent sunshine”?

A faint squeak exited her lips as her face grew warm.

“What kind of friends?” She asked, though stumbling over a few words.

Sowon simply smirked; this alluring smile that could capture the attention of anyone.

“You’ll see.” She replied shortly. A total opposite from her previous sentences.

Sumin couldn’t help but groan. The way her roomie said that did not sit well with her. What kind of friends did she have? Were they like her in the aspect of being quite flirtatious?

Maybe, they were kind of friends that she would never introduce to her mom━ or maybe they were.

Great...so many questions that needed answering yet so little time. Honestly, Sumin wasted enough time telling Sowon that she never had a boyfriend before. She needed to remain focus on her studies if she wanted to be prepared for her upcoming BAR exam.

Wow…

She had no life whatsoever.

Instead of replying, Sumin simply smiled and and walked back to her bed. She placed her headphones over her ears and resumed studying.

Studying for what? Well, that’s a great question…

While with Sowon, she couldn’t help but feel intrigued when it came to her newly appointed roommate. Not only did she find it interesting that Sumin tended to drop the conversation without being asked, but she honestly managed to creep up behind her without making a noise.

If this innocent little lady were trained in assassination, Sowon would definitely be dead before she could grab anything to fight back with.

Then, it hit her. With the proper training, Sumin could be a great secret weapon━a shadow that lingered around her and her gang members.

Yes...this could work…but what to use her talents for? Maybe she could ask Yoongi since he displayed similar traits.

Now laying on her back on the bed, Sowon was staring straight up the wall, biting her lip in thought. It was getting dark and Sumin had already retreated to the bathroom to get into some cute pink pajamas, earning a little cooing sound from Sowon.

The older girl still hadn’t changed her outfit as she laid on top of her blanket, waiting for Sumin to finally fall asleep. How could that girl study for so long? Wasn’t it getting kind of boring? She sighed, rolling over on her stomach to play some random games on her phone, until she finally heard the magic words. “Good night, Sowon,” Sumin said in a sing sung voice, before she turned to finally get to sleep.

[To Jungkookie 12:35 AM]: Took her long enough! I’ll be there in 30 mins…I hope we can go and get some food on the way home. I’m starving.

[From Jungkookie 12:37 AM]: Anything for you baby!

Checking her watch every few minutes, Sowon was waiting impatiently until she finally could hear some soft snores of the younger girl, who was mumbling law paragraphs in her sleep. Only then she kicked her own blanket away and reached for her boots quickly but quietly. She pulled an oversized sweater over her head, making it look like a dress rather than a sweater, before she tiptoed over to the little window off their shared room. It was safer this way, also more fun.

Sowon smiled, when she opened the window wide and carefully placed a foot over the windowsill. The wind was blowing her hair around her face, so she quickly tied it up into a ponytail, before she swung the other foot over the window. 

“Au revoir, little sunshine,” Sowon whispered, as she carefully got over to the little ledge, before she pushed herself up on the flat roof.

A faint whisper entered her ears. Then, followed by the sound of a window opening. Seriously, her body needed sleep if she were to survive yet another long day of classes tomorrow.

Forcing her eyes to open, Sumin saw a blurry figure climbing out of the window.

Wait what?!

Her eyes immediately shot open. Her heart pounded against her chest. How in the world did a burglar get in their room?

Sumin roughly flung her covers off her body before scrambling out of bed. Her eyes frantically scanned the medium sized room, hoping to look for her roomie. Her focus zoomed in on Sowon’s bed and noticed that it was empty.

Oh, God! The burglar kidnapped her roommate!

She immediately grabbed her tripod, the only remaining equipment from her attempt at photography. She rushed over to the window, ready to go after the burglar and save her soon-to-be friend.

Just as she peeked her head out, one hand still firmly gripped the tripod, Sumin gasped. Her hold loosened, causing the tripod to slip through her fingers.

“Sowon?”

A/N: Wahhhhhh! Sorry still screaming into the void over the fact that I am finally co-writing a story with my soup friend, my hubby, my queen, Jey @softjeon Seriously, we have been talking about it (mainly me joking around that we should lol), and BOOM! Our first crossover! Well KPOP group crossover. BTS x NCT! Let’s get it! Also, this is her first member x OC story, so I’m happy/honored that she’s doing this with me! 

Anyway, stay tune for more updates and one crazy adventure! In regards to Our Second Chance, I will update that story when I can and/or feel the motivation to do so. Please be patient with me! ^^

Don’t forget to leave a comment/like/reblog/and an ask in mine or Jey’s inbox! We love hearing your thoughts! 

- Kim

[love-takes-work]

Steven Universe Podcast: Volume 2, Episode 10: Garnet

Season 2, Episode 10 of the Steven Universe Podcast, released March 29, 2018, is about Garnet. The official description:

Garnet finally gets her due on the Steven Universe Podcast! Creator Rebecca Sugar and former Executive Producer Ian Jones-Quartey return to reveal why Garnet is especially meaningful to them personally, what hints they deliberately included in the pilot pointing to Garnet being a fusion, and how it ended up that she never asks questions... ever! Co-Executive Producer Joe Johnston and Storyboard Supervisor Hilary Florido also return to speak to writing for Garnet versus Ruby and Sapphire individually, and some of their favorite Garnet moments. Plus, Erica Luttrell, the voice of Sapphire, recalls her audition and offers a great behind-the-scenes look at what it’s like working the voice over booth with Rebecca Sugar!

Since as usual my summary is long, I will provide a highlights list followed by a cut which you can follow for a more in-depth narrative. Enjoy!

Highlights:

Garnet represents Ian Jones-Quartey and Rebecca Sugar's relationship. Like her, they had to maintain their union AND run the show simultaneously.

Rebecca is Ruby and Ian is Sapphire.

Plans to have Ruby or Sapphire show up in "Together Breakfast" were scrapped, though they kept the red and blue lights on the door as Garnet went into her room.

Rebecca and Ian loved checking out fan theories about whether Garnet was a Fusion before it was revealed. Fans once worried that Garnet would unfuse and never come back, or that their fusion was necessary for some dark or desperate reason, but they don't remember seeing anyone conclude that they were simply in love.

Ruby and Sapphire are a classic cartoon couple in many ways and were designed to be adorable together.

A good analogy for understanding Garnet is to think of her a bit like Ruby and Sapphire's child, with attributes of both but completely different from both as her own person.

According to Ian, Garnet is the most impulsive and it's hardest to predict what her reaction to any given situation might be.

Garnet's Future Vision is not the same as Sapphire's. Sapphire's is passive and singular, and with Ruby's impulsive influence, Garnet is able to imagine interfering in the path of fate and creating multiple futures.

Garnet's difficulty in connecting to the present is rooted in her fixation on what might happen and what she'll do or say next. She sometimes deals with feelings of being overwhelmed by blowing off steam with unexpected outbursts.

Garnet's tendency to not ask questions is a reversal of the character trope where a character constantly asks questions to move the story along.

Rebecca describes a pact with Rose associated with her lack of question-asking, which we will get into "very soon."

"Three Gems and a Baby" had an important scene where Garnet unfusing upset baby Steven, which made Garnet worry that Steven wouldn't accept her. The episode once had lines featuring her worrying that she'd showed him too soon.

Garnet's experience in "Arcade Mania" was described by Ian as "soothing" for her--a whole series of predictable futures that she could escape into.

Garnet's stoicism is largely derived from her being frozen into inaction by overload of input from her Future Vision. She can find refuge in her trust and love for someone else, and her warmth in those moments is when she is genuinely present.

A favorite Garnet line from Ian: "We can't fight these things forever. Well, we can, but I don't want to."

One of the most challenging aspects of writing Garnet for Joe Johnston and Hilary Florido is dealing with her no-questions rule.

Joe thinks Garnet is the Gem mom most likely to say something embarrassing.

Joe loved having a chance to look outside Steven's direct POV with "Garnet's Universe."

The Sardonyx arc had to be handled very carefully since it was an episode explicitly about consent in general, but using fusion as a very specific vehicle in the show. Showing how Pearl caused a serious breach by violating Garnet's consent was important, but it was also important to depict a satisfactory resolution for characters who have been through this.

Erica Luttrell originally auditioned to play Garnet.

Sometimes Rebecca has to ask Erica to be more chill in playing Sapphire because she has a tendency to use more emotional, animated delivery sometimes.

Erica gets into character with help from the storyboard images shown during the recording sessions. Her speaking voice is quite different from Sapphire’s voice.

Volume 2 is completed with this episode. The podcast will be back with more mini-recaps in a couple weeks.

You can read the detailed summary below!

[Archive of Steven Universe Podcast Summaries]

McKenzie opens the podcast by acknowledging that everyone's been asking for a Garnet episode, and brings up how Garnet's status as a Fusion was hinted at as far back as the pilot. She gives us an overview of the guests for this week and what they'll be talking about, and then she begins with Rebecca and Ian.

Rebecca Sugar and Ian Jones-Quartey:

Kicking off the discussion of Garnet, Rebecca and Ian start with Garnet's origin as they conceived her character at the beginning. Garnet represents Ian and Rebecca's relationship, so she is a mashup of what the two of them wanted. As they began to make the show together, Ruby was Rebecca's avatar of sorts, while Sapphire was Ian's. Since they were together 24/7 as they put the show together, they got very in sync so they felt they were thinking as a unit, and the way they handled it was very much like Garnet because they had to maintain their relationship's stability WHILE also being in charge of this huge creative process.

Ruby and Sapphire were always a planned aspect of Garnet, though they evolved as characters behind the scenes before they were put on the show. They had initially intended Garnet to split up more often than she does, and wanted to show Steven seeing one of them in the Temple as far back as "Together Breakfast" but not knowing who she was. They dropped that plan, but still included the red and blue lights on the Temple door as an early clue. They really enjoyed watching people try to figure that out, and try to figure out the silhouettes in "Fusion Cuisine."

Ian and Rebecca were pretty amused by how dark the theories were about whether Garnet was a Fusion and what that meant for her character. Many worried that if she were revealed as a Fusion, she would unfuse at some point and not come back, or that maybe there was a terrible reason Ruby and Sapphire stayed fused (like, to keep one of them alive or something). No one seemed to hit on the right answer--that they fused because they were in love. They were actually kind of surprised no one seemed to pick up on it since they showed Garnet being so ecstatic about Stevonnie in "Alone Together." 

In Ian's imagination, Ruby and Sapphire are totally classic cartoon characters, like the adorable characters of "Love Is..." or an angel/devil, ice/fire dynamic. Rebecca brings up characters that are designed to be a couple, like a Mickey/Minnie combo where they look identical except one has eyelashes and a bow. She wanted her characters to still have that classic totally-in-love vibe without having that look. They're super cute.

Ian enjoyed getting to explore Ruby and Sapphire's extremes in "Keystone Motel," and they discuss how this was their last episode they finished together, which felt really cathartic. They tiptoe around discussing the way Ruby and Sapphire fight, warning against going too deep since this does represent their relationship as well, but so much of what they fight about is caused by external factors and the way they try to make something bigger than themselves work smoothly. McKenzie points out that the focus on Ruby and Sapphire has distracted them from talking about Garnet herself, who is after all the intended focus character of this episode!

Ian begins by contrasting Garnet with Opal; Opal is a fragile union because the characters who form her can't keep their balance for long, while Garnet is a much more balanced relationship. Rebecca emphasizes that she is her own person, and Ian suggests she holds so much responsibility as an individual. Rebecca says it helps to think of Garnet as sort of a child of Ruby and Sapphire, with aspects of both of them but functioning as a separate entity. Rebecca says the Gems all struggle with their sense of self, but for Garnet it's a specific type of struggle and when she's on top of it it's more stable than anyone. Ian thinks she's the most impulsive, the most mysterious, and the most difficult to predict her actions. Rebecca says her inner world is very complex.

In discussing Garnet's Future Vision, Rebecca says it's different from Sapphire's ability because Sapphire sees "one future" and is a passive player in that future. Ruby is so impulsive that her actions can interrupt those predictions. So Garnet can see options of what will happen if she interferes. She's always caught up in her own mind pondering these things. She's often overwhelmed by this, and that's why sometimes you'll see her blow off steam doing weird things or being unable to connect with the present. But love keeps her in the here and now when she works on it, and she can bring it forward with warmth and focus.

One "rule" for Garnet is that she does not ask questions (in her present state, that is; she certainly asked many questions in "The Answer," before she was sure of anything). Ian and Rebecca knew about the character trope of someone who's there to ask questions and push the narrative along, and they wanted her to be the opposite. She acknowledges that the phrase "Can't you see that my relationship is stable?" counts as a rhetorical question and she takes responsibility for that.

(Chronicler's note: Garnet HAS asked several other questions that are sort of like this, but like Rebecca is saying here, they are in some way not exactly questions. In "Laser Light Cannon," Garnet says "Ready?" to Amethyst and she nods as if answering before getting thrown at the Red Eye, but you could take that to mean she's telling her to be ready. In "Cheeseburger Backpack," Garnet asks "What've you got?" to Steven as an invitation for him to pull out his raft, but you could see that as a prompt for him to show her. In "Rose's Room," she says "Guess what?" but immediately answers her own question with "We have time to hang out now." In "Watermelon Steven," she's included in the couple of "What??" reactions the Gems have when Steven bursts in with his news about his living watermelons, but it’s not really a question so much as an exclamation of surprise. And besides "Can't you see that my relationship is stable?" there is also the recent episode "Pool Hopping" which features Garnet saying "Who knows?" when Steven asks how long they'll be posing for, but she’s not really asking for a who.)

Garnet's refusal to ask questions is an expression of her sureness, but it is also representative of a pact with Rose--we saw it in "The Answer" ("never question this! you already are the answer!") but Rebecca says we'll learn more about the pact "very soon."

McKenzie brings up Garnet's visor and under what conditions she tends to take it off, and asks what this has to do with Steven being slowly let into Garnet's world. Rebecca says that Garnet is so much happier now that Steven knows she's a Fusion, and that before she was always guarding the secret, worried about upsetting him. They bring up "Three Gems and a Baby," when Garnet unfused for baby Steven and he cried, which made her worry that the truth about her will upset him and she needs to keep it hidden. Originally Rebecca thinks there were lines about Garnet being hurt that Steven as a baby couldn't handle that revelation and that she showed him too soon. His opinion of fusion is really important to her, and she worried about it a lot, but for a long time Steven didn't truly understand fusion. He just thought it was something exciting they could do. But she loves that fusion makes Steven happy, since it's got such negative connotations on Homeworld.

Ian brings up how Garnet sees things differently than any other character; similar to how they discussed Stevonnie's hallucinations in the podcast about fusion, Garnet is always seeing these splitting realities and possibilities, and in "Arcade Mania" that's one reason Garnet found the game "soothing." It was full of predictable futures she could master, allowing her a comfort and an escape. 

Her way of being socially awkward, in contrast to the other Gems, is in her hyperawareness; she's so focused on how others might react to what she says that she will often say nothing. She's frequently drowning in all the input and seeming stoic because it's paralyzing, but what brings her out of those loops is trusting and loving someone else. That love and trust can cut through all the potential ways something can go wrong. It's really hard for her when she's wrong because she so wants to believe in someone, like when she believed Steven wouldn't go on the roof in the episode "Future Vision" and then he did.

One of Ian's favorite Garnet lines is from "Marble Madness": "We can't fight these things forever. Well, we can, but I don't want to."

Joe Johnston and Hilary Florido:

McKenzie welcomes her next guests and asks them to discuss how they approach writing for Garnet. Hilary pipes in about how she actually doesn't get many Garnet episodes because her specialty is the characters who are self-deprecating and Garnet is so the opposite. Joe says Garnet is straightforward but soft-spoken, and ready to dive into any situation on impulse if that's needed. Joe brings up the "no questions" rule as a challenge in writing Garnet. Joe says it's more than just a wordplay issue with writing her dialogue; it forces them to keep her direct and definitive. They've sometimes spent a lot of time trying to get Garnet's lines clear of questions.

They move on to discussing writing for Ruby and Sapphire. Hilary again tends not to write for them. Joe says Sapphire is the calm and collected aspects of Garnet, while Ruby's the impulsive and direct parts of her. Hilary says Fusions are always those parts plus more. Because they didn't reveal Ruby and Sapphire for a long time, Garnet as a gestalt was established as an individual far before they started deconstructing Ruby and Sapphire's personalities on screen. Joe felt it was "a fun time" to explore them. Joe actually compares the situation to writing for Opal, who's an "amazing superhero" like Garnet made up of two almost complete opposites. The balance makes a really impressive combination.

In a convoluted discussion of how "fire and ice" (Ruby and Sapphire) sound cool but also sounds like a bad school dance theme, they conclude that Garnet also has the potential to be the coolest mom but also the most embarrassing mom, considering how goofy she gets when she's happy. She completely can't talk on the phone and really can't interact with humans.

McKenzie brings up "Garnet's Universe" and how it revealed the way Steven thinks about his most mysterious mom. Joe really enjoyed the change of making a "different show." Breaking out of Steven's POV is fun. They also bring up, as an aside, how it was fun to have Michaela and Deedee as sidekicks in that episode, but swapping them so Michaela got to play the cool one and Deedee was silly. They proceed to express confusion over whether Hoppy is the frog or the bunny, and the same for Hopper. (Yes, they got it backwards. Hopper's the frog, played by Deedee; Hoppy's the bunny, played by Michaela. Considering Garnet got it confused once in the episode itself, this is awesome.)

McKenzie moves on to "heavier" episodes, invoking the Sardonyx arc. Hilary said the pitch for "Cry for Help" was handled very carefully. How to "honor" all the characters was very important in trying to do something acceptable with this episode. Joe refers to fusion as a "visual allegory for relationships," which Hilary specifies are "of any kind." Joe wanted to make sure their focus on the importance of consent was handled appropriately for a show that can be consumed by kids, and he felt very gratified by how people totally understood why Garnet was so upset with Pearl. 

Hilary said it was important to get it to work within the show's framework as well as making it resonate with people on a level relatable to their own lives. And then, of course, they had to create a resolution--to show how the characters dealt with mending the break. Having an actual fissure in the team so it can't work was huge for Joe. Hilary really wanted to emphasize that this was not a simple mistake, and that you really have to face mistakes of this magnitude while still figuring out how to move forward.

Erica Luttrell:

McKenzie introduces Erica, voice of Sapphire, and asks her how she got the part. Erica says she actually originally auditioned to play Garnet. Rebecca had seen her singing videos on YouTube, which surprised her; she likes to sing but doesn't like to do it in front of people live. Those videos only exist because a friend insisted she should make them so people would tell her she could sing.

Then Erica discusses her initial understanding of Sapphire, saying she interpreted her as feeling a bit heavy because of that burden of knowing the future, and also that she would read as a little cold and icy, and reserved because of her aristocrat background. But Sapphire comes to fall in love with someone who serves her, and Erica thinks that must have been sort of a relief. And she agrees with McKenzie's assessment that it must have been great to have something unexpected happen.

In discussing fusion, Erica says she really loves that fusion increases positive attributes for Gems who combine, but that for Garnet specifically, it's about love and Estelle's delivery conveys so much peace--evidence of genuine love.

Then McKenzie asks Erica to discuss the difficulty of portraying a character who's cold like Sapphire but also imbue the role with emotion. She sometimes has to be told by Rebecca to chill Sapphire out because she thinks she might be letting some goofiness and emotion creep in.

In portraying a character who can see the future, Erica says it can be challenging--humans can have intuition but can't see the future like Sapphire can, and it must be a totally different life to have a voice in your head that is always telling the truth.

And then McKenzie points out that Erica's speaking voice is quite different from Sapphire's and asks how she gets in character. Reading the script helps, and they can get the tone from the storyboards up on a monitor while they record.

Outro:

McKenzie lets us know that this is the last episode of Volume 2, and we'll return with some more mini-recap episodes in a couple weeks.

[Archive of Steven Universe Podcast Summaries]

[talabib]

How To Make Yourself More Likeable As A Leader

Do you sometimes struggle to make friends? Or argue with others and still don’t manage to win them over to your way of thinking? Do you feel like your relationships with your colleagues and clients could be better?

Look no further – the definitive guide to overcoming these woes is here. By putting these simple, concrete techniques into use, you’ll become a more likeable, persuasive and effective person, professional and leader.

If you want others to like you, don’t criticize them.

Famous airplane test pilot Bob Hoover was flying back from an air show in San Diego when all of sudden both of his engines cut out. Through some impressive flying he was able to land the plane, saving those on board. Unfortunately, the aircraft was badly damaged.

The reason for the harrowing engine failure was that the World War Two propeller plane had been accidentally filled with jet fuel.

Back at the airport, Hoover saw the mechanic who had made the mistake. The young man was in tears, knowing how furious Hoover must be over the loss of his expensive airplane and the danger posed to the three people on board.

So did Hoover yell at him? Scold him? Criticize him?

Not at all. In fact, Hoover said that to demonstrate his faith in the mechanic having learned his lesson, he’d like the same mechanic to service his plane the next day.

The reason for Hoover’s benevolence was perhaps that he knew something that psychologist B.F. Skinner had discovered a long time ago: animals rewarded for good behavior will learn more effectively than those punished for bad behavior.

The same is true of people: criticizing them won’t encourage them to change their behavior because they’re not primarily driven by reason but by emotion. Thus the person you criticize won’t truly listen to what you’re saying. They’ll just feel like they’re under attack, and their natural reaction will be to dig in and fight back.

So while voicing criticism might help you blow off steam, in the long-term, it will just make others like you less.

Many successful people actually made it a habit to never openly criticize others. Benjamin Franklin, for instance, claimed that the secret of his success was to “speak ill of no man.”

Abraham Lincoln learned this lesson as well. He used to publicly criticize his opponents until one day his criticism so offended someone that he was challenged to a saber duel! The duel was only called off at the last instant, and from then on, he stopped openly criticizing others. Even during the Civil War he famously told those who spoke harshly of the Southerners, “Don’t criticize them; they are just what we would be under similar circumstances.”

Criticizing someone is easy, but it takes character to be understanding and to forgive others for their mistakes and shortcomings.

So if you want others to like you, think about why they did what they did, accept their shortcomings and make it a rule to never criticize them openly.

If you want others to do you favors, show your appreciation frequently and make them feel important.

One of the strongest drivers of human behavior is the desire to be appreciated by others; we all like being complimented and hearing that we’re doing a good job.

Some people even claim that all of civilization ultimately rests upon the human desire to be important. Our craving for approval and praise makes us climb the highest mountains, write novels and found multi-million-dollar companies.

No one is immune to this longing for importance and appreciation. Consider that even George Washington was partial to having the title “His Mightiness, the President of the United States.”

But you don’t need to give someone a fancy title to show your appreciation. It’s enough to use simple phrases like “Thank you” and “I’m sorry,” while also giving sincere, honest praise.

Don’t shower people with phony flattery, or they will see right through it. Instead, stop thinking about yourself for a moment and focus on the good points of the person in front of you.

Also, be sure to make the other person feel important. To get into the right mind-set, try thinking like Ralph Waldo Emerson, who said that every person he met was superior to him in certain ways, so there was always something to learn from and appreciate in other people.

Or think about the Golden Rule: treat others as you would like others to treat you.

So the next time you see a tired, bored, underappreciated service employee somewhere, try to brighten their day with some appreciation. Dale, for instance, once wanted to cheer up a bored postal employee, and so he said, “I certainly wish I had your head of hair.”

At this unexpected compliment, the postal worker’s face brightened immediately, and they carried out a pleasant conversation.

Leave little sparks of appreciation like this in your wake and you’ll be surprised to see how positively people react when their hunger for recognition is fed. You’ll soon become someone whom others like and enjoy working with. And best of all, you’ll have a positive impact on the lives of those around you.

If you want to make a good first impression, smile.

Once upon a time, a New York stockbroker by the name of William B. Steinhardt decided to try something new. Previously a notorious grouch who rarely smiled in his personal or professional life, Steinhardt committed to simply smiling more by giving himself a pep talk in the mirror the morning his experiment began.

He began the day by greeting his wife with a smile, then smiling at the doorman of his building, then the cashier at the subway booth, then the traders on the trading floor and his colleagues in the office.

The result? People began smiling back. At home, Steinhardt said that there had been more happiness in the first two months of the experiment than in the entire year before it. What’s more, he found that at work, complaints and grievances were easier to deal with, winning him more revenue than previously. In short, he was a richer, happier man. As the story shows, a smile can go a long way.

If someone we’ve just met smiles at us, we tend to automatically like them. The smile of a baby, for instance, immediately makes us feel warm and fuzzy inside, as does seeing a dog wagging its tail out of sheer delight at seeing us.

So if you want to make yourself instantly likeable to someone, show them that you’re happy to see them by smiling. When they see how happy you are to meet them, they can’t help but be happy to see you too.

And as if this wasn’t a big enough benefit on its own, psychologists have also uncovered a positive side-effect of smiling: it seems that the connection between positive emotions and smiling is not a one-way street; consciously smiling can lead to positive emotions, just as positive emotions can lead to smiling.

In other words, even though a smile costs nothing, you can use it to lift your spirits and those of others. What a bargain!

If you’d like to smile more but don’t feel like it, just try forcing yourself: whistle, sing or hum a tune! Act as if you’re already cheerful and you will soon find yourself becoming happier.

A person’s name is the sweetest sound they know.

Jim Farley lost his father at age ten. Being the oldest boy in the family, he went to work at a brickyard to help pay the bills. Despite never receiving much of an education, by the time he was 46, Jim was Postmaster General and Chairman of the Democratic National Committee.

So what was the secret to his success? Farley realized early on that people care more about their own name than all the other names in the world combined. Remembering and using a person’s name was a subtle yet powerful way to win them over, and this was something at which Farley was extraordinarily adept. When someone asked him if it was true that he could remember the first names of 10,000 people, Farley corrected him by saying that he could call 50,000 people by their first name!

Similarly, Theodore Roosevelt was popular among all his staff because he made a habit of greeting them all by their names. He also deliberately made time to listen to them and tried to remember what they said so he could refer back to it later. By doing this, he showed others his appreciation, and he got far more back in return.

So, to win someone’s favor be sure to remember their name and use it in conversation frequently.

How? Well, Napoleon the Third, Emperor of France, was proud that the following technique allowed him to remember the name of everyone he met:

Be sure you catch the name when it comes up the first time in conversation and ask for it to be repeated or even spelled out if needed. Then repeat it back to the person multiple times to associate it with the person to whom you’re talking. Finally, when you’re alone, write it down to enforce the memory.

And you need not stop at remembering the other person’ name. Dale made a habit of finding out the birthdays of people he met so that he could send them a letter or telegram to congratulate them.

You can imagine how appreciated the recipients must’ve felt, especially when often he was the only one who had remembered!

If you want to be interesting yourself, be a good listener who is genuinely interested in others.

Once, Dale attended a dinner party in New York where he met a botanist. Having never met one before, He listened to him for hours, riveted by the descriptions of exotic plants and experiments. Later, the botanist remarked to the host what an “interesting conversationalist” Dale was.

But the thing is, Dale barely said anything at all. He had merely been a good, interested listener. So it turns out that the secret of being interesting yourself is simply to be interested in others. We all love a good listener, especially when they encourage us to speak about ourselves.

But why is that? The New York Telephone Company conducted a study on the most frequently used words in telephone conversations. Can you guess which word topped the list? “I...”

Humans are always interested in talking about themselves, which is why we’re always overjoyed to meet someone who shares this interest.

So if you want to be more likeable and interesting, stop talking and just listen. Ask others about themselves and encourage them to speak at length.

When conversing, most people are so preoccupied with what they themselves want to say next that they barely listen to the other person at all.

Truly listening means making a conscious effort to give the other person your full attention. And the benefits of this approach are substantial.

Sigmund Freud, for example, was famous for his listening skills. He excelled at showing others how interesting he found everything they said, and in return they felt completely comfortable revealing even their most private emotions and experiences to him.

On the other hand, talking about yourself a lot, failing to listen to others and constantly interrupting them will make you instantly dislikeable because these traits signal that you’re self-centered.

So give listening a try. Ask questions about the other person’s accomplishments and about themselves so they can talk about something they love, and you may be surprised at the deep connections you can forge.

Think about what others want and talk about what’s important to them.

Do you like strawberries? Probably. But if you were to go fishing, would you bait your hook with them? Of course not, because in fishing it doesn’t matter what you want. What matters is what the fish want.

Similarly, if you want someone else to do something, you’re better off thinking about it from their perspective: how you can make them want to do it?

For example, Dale had once booked a hotel ballroom to host a series of 20 lectures when suddenly he was informed that the price of the space would go up threefold.

Knowing that he would need to think about what the hotel’s management wanted, he formulated a letter to them, outlining the hotel’s pros and cons of increasing the price. For example, he stated that by raising the price they would have the ballroom free for other events, because the Dale could not afford to pay the rent, but on the other hand, they would lose the free advertising they gained from the his lectures. As a result, the hotel reconsidered and only raised the price by 50 percent.

Another crucial piece of advice to win someone’s favor is to become knowledgeable and speak about things that are important to them.

Once upon a time, a man named Edward L. Chalif needed a favor. A big boy scout jamboree was coming up in Europe, and he wanted the president of one of the largest corporations in America to pay for the expenses of one participant.

Before the meeting, Chalif had heard that the president of the company had a framed check for a million dollars and was clearly very proud of it. Armed with this knowledge, he met the man, but instead of starting with the request, Chalif asked about the check: Was it true? Could he possibly see it? He’d sure love to be able to tell the boy scouts that he’d seen a real check for a million dollars!

The president of the company gladly complied, happily retelling the story of the check. Afterward, when Chalif explained the subject of the meeting, the man immediately agreed to pay for the expenses of not one but five boy scouts and to come to Paris himself to personally show the group around.

As you can see, people become very fond of those who speak about things they’re interested in themselves, such as their jobs, hobbies or million-dollar checks.

As another example, consider Theodore Roosevelt. Whenever he was about to meet a new person, he thoroughly prepared for the meeting by reading everything he could about the other person’s interests. He understood that the route to someone’s good graces is talking about the things they value the most.

And if you’re not sure about the other person’s interests, remember that there’s one topic everyone is interested in: themselves. As Benjamin Disraeli said, “Talk to people about themselves, and they will listen for hours.”

Avoid all arguments – they cannot be won.

Patrick J O’Haire was a salesman for White Motor Trucks and very prone to arguing. Indeed, he relished a good fight. If a customer said anything offensive about his trucks, O’Haire soon launched into an aggressive argument, which he usually won to his great satisfaction. But the problem was that despite these “victories” the customers weren’t actually buying his trucks.

You see, arguing with another person does not really make much sense. If you lose, you lose the argument. If you win, the other person will resent you for having hurt their pride, so you still will not have truly won them over.

And nine times out of ten, the argument will only make the other person more entrenched in their stance than they were before. Therefore, the only solution is to avoid such disputes from the start.

So the next time you encounter opposition to your ideas, don’t start arguing to bolster your views, but instead try to accept the disagreement as something positive that brings a new perspective to your attention. After all, if two people always agree on everything, then one of them is dispensable.

What’s more, be sure to distrust the first response that bubbles up in you as it is usually an instinctively defensive one. And whatever you do, control your temper!

Listen to what your opponent has to say without resistance or protest and promise to carefully examine their thoughts. Try to find areas where you agree and dwell on these points while also freely admitting if you have made mistakes. This will help reduce your opponent’s defensiveness.

Then, thank your opponent. After all, you could just as easily see them as a friend who cares passionately about the topic at hand and wants to help you come to the right conclusion.

Finally, propose to meet again at a later time to allow both parties to think about it in the meantime. During this break, ask yourself if your opponent could be right and whether your reaction is really likely to produce the results you seek. By keeping these points in mind, you can avoid unnecessary arguments.

Even Patrick J O’Haire learned to avoid arguments, and the next time a customer told him that he preferred another brand of trucks, O’Haire just agreed. Unsurprisingly, this made it hard for the customer to keep arguing, and so the conversation could then be redirected toward what was good about White trucks. As a result, O’Haire became the star salesman of the White Truck Company.

Never tell others they are wrong; they will only resent you.

When Benjamin Franklin was a young man, he was famously opinionated and prone to attack those who disagreed with him. One day, an old friend took him aside to tell him that his friends were abandoning him because of this.

Despite his recklessness at this age, Franklin was wise enough to listen, and made it a habit to never again openly oppose others. He even decided to completely remove some words like “certainly” and “undoubtedly” from his vocabulary because he felt they were too rigid and reflected an unbending mind-set. Instead he used phrases like “I conceive” or “I imagine.”

You see, whenever you tell someone they’re wrong, you’re basically saying, “I’m smarter than you.” This is a direct attack on their self-esteem, and they will want to retaliate because you’re clearly disrespecting their opinions.

So whenever you want to express your opposition to someone’s opinions, take a page from Ben Franklin’s book and avoid absolute terms like “It’s clear that…” or “Obviously, the case is…” These telegraph the message “I’m smarter than you,” and even if you do think you’re smarter, you should never openly display this mentality.

If you want the other person to re-evaluate their view, it’s much more effective to be humble and open-minded. You could say, for example, “I thought differently but I might be wrong. I’ve been wrong pretty often, so let’s have a look at the facts again together.”

If you frame your opposition like this, the other person is much less likely to resist or resent you before giving you a chance to air your views. With a little luck, a soft approach will quickly turn opponents into allies, making it possible for you to change their opinions.

Consider the story of how Dale commissioned an interior decorator to produce some draperies for his home. Afterward, he was shocked by the size of the bill, and when he mentioned the price to a friend, she exclaimed that he had clearly been overcharged. Insulted, Dale defended his actions, explaining that the high price was an indicator of quality.

But then, when another friend dropped in and gushed praise for the same draperies, Dale could admit that he actually felt he had overpaid and regretted the purchase. This positive approach so disarmed him that he could freely admit his mistake.

Whenever you’re wrong yourself, admit it right away.

Once, Dalw was out walking his dog Rex in a nearby forest. Rex liked to run free and so was not wearing a muzzle or leash. Unfortunately, they encountered a police officer who sternly told him that this was illegal, but that just this once he’d let them off with a warning.

Dale obeyed, but Rex didn’t like the muzzle, so pretty soon they returned to their old ways. That’s when the same officer caught them again.

This time, even before the officer opened his mouth, Dale himself expressed how very, very sorry he was, and how unacceptable his misdeed was.

Normally, the officer would’ve probably been angry and handed him a fine, but thanks to this upfront admission of guilt, he did the opposite: the officer began arguing that the little dog really wasn’t hurting anyone, accepted Carnegie’s apology and let them continue on their merry way.

The truth is, we all make mistakes. And whenever you do and someone is about to berate you for it, there’s an easy way to steal their thunder: admit your mistake.

This helps because the other person was no doubt planning to bolster their own self-esteem by criticizing you about your mistake, but the moment you admit your guilt, the situation completely changes. Now, in order to feel important, they can no longer attack you, but rather have to show generosity by forgiving you. This is exactly what made the police officer so lenient in the example of Rex in the forest.

So the next time you realize you’re in the wrong, admit it enthusiastically. It will produce better results, and you’ll find it’s actually much more enjoyable than having to defend yourself when the other person points out your mistake.

To be convincing, start in a friendly way and get others to say “yes” as often as possible.

In 1915, John D. Rockefeller Jr. was one of the most hated men in Colorado. Miners from the Colorado Fuel and Iron Company, which Rockefeller controlled, had been striking for over two years for higher wages. The results were tragic: troops had been deployed and strikers had been shot.

So when Rockefeller had to address the representatives of the strikers, he must’ve been at a loss for how he could possibly win over people who only a few days earlier had wanted to see him hanged.

He chose a simple strategy: friendliness – his speech glowed with it. He emphasized how proud and happy he was to meet them and how it was an important day in his life. He spoke of them as dear friends with whom he shared many interests.

The result? The miners went back to work without another word about the wage increases they had fought for so furiously.

As this example shows, friendliness can make people change their minds much more effectively than bluster and fury, so whatever it is you’re trying to achieve, be sure to start in a friendly way.

Another important persuasion technique is getting people to say “yes” right from the start. Begin by emphasizing all the points on which you agree with the other person and ask questions that get them to say “yes” a lot. Think of it like building momentum in a billiard ball – it will be hard for them to reverse course after all those “yeses.”

On the other hand, you should avoid getting the other person to say “no,” because they will be extremely reluctant to back away from this statement once made.

And for people in sales, multiple “yeses” can translate into more sales. Consider the story of Eddie Snow. Mr Snow was interested in renting a bow from a hunting shop, but the sales clerk told him this wasn’t possible. However, then the clerk began getting some “yeses.”

Clerk: “Have you rented a bow before?”

Mr Snow: “Yes.”

Clerk: “You probably paid around $25 to $30?”

Mr Snow: “Yes.”

Clerk: “We have bow-sets for sale for $34.95, so you could actually buy a set for just $4.95 more than the cost of a single rental, which is why we don’t rent them anymore. Is that reasonable”

Mr Snow: “Yes.”

Mr Snow not only purchased the bow, but also became a regular customer of the store in question.

So the next time you feel like telling someone they’re wrong, start in a friendly way and ask a gentle question that will get them to say “yes.”

To change others, start with praise and lavish them with more continuously.

When William McKinley was running for president in 1896, a speechwriter prepared a campaign speech for him which McKinley knew would raise a lot of criticism. The problem was that the writer obviously believed the speech was superb.

So McKinley needed it rewritten but he did not want to hurt the man’s feelings or dent his enthusiasm.

Instead of starting with a refusal, McKinley began by giving praise, explaining that the speech was magnificent and that it would be perfect for many occasions. But for this particular occasion, a different kind of speech was needed.

The result of this soft start was that the speech writer’s enthusiasm was undimmed, but he still went home and rewrote the speech along McKinley’s suggestions.

This story demonstrates an important lesson: just as a barber lathers a man’s face before a shave to make the procedure more comfortable, so it is easier for us to hear unpleasant things after receiving praise. Keep this in mind whenever you wish for someone to make a change.

Nor should you stop at the initial praise. Be sure to encourage the other person and praise them for every improvement they make, no matter how small. This will motivate them and make it seem easy for them to make the change you desire.

Consider the story of Keith Roper, who ran a print shop. One day, he saw material of exceptionally high quality that had been produced by a new employee. The new employee in question had thus far seemed to have a bad attitude, and Roper had, in fact, been considering terminating his employment.

But now, Roper could go speak to the employee with honest praise. He didn’t just say that the work was “good,” he went into the specifics about why it was superior and what this meant for the company. These kinds of specifics make praise feel more sincere.

The result? The young man’s attitude transformed completely into one of a dedicated and reliable worker.

As you can see, people’s abilities languish under criticism but bloom under encouragement. So the next time you need to change someone’s ways, be generous with your praise.

When drawing attention to mistakes, do so indirectly and speak of your own errors first.

One morning, Charles Schwab was walking through one of his steel mills when he noticed a group of workers smoking right under a “No Smoking” sign.

Instead of confronting the men directly about this infraction, he handed them each a cigar and said he would appreciate it if they smoked them outside. Because he pointed out their mistake so tactfully, instead of berating them, the men probably felt a great deal of admiration and affection for Schwab.

You see, Schwab knew that calling attention to mistakes indirectly makes people far more amenable to changing their ways.

To do this, even subtle changes to what you say can be enough. The next time you plan to start with praise but then say “...but...” and continuing with the criticism, think about how you could formulate the criticism more softly with an “and.”

For example, instead of saying to your child: “Your grades are looking good, but your algebra is still lagging,” try saying “Your grades are looking good, and if you keep working on your algebra, it’ll soon catch up!”

In addition to this indirect approach, you’ll find people more receptive if you begin by talking about your own mistakes.

For instance, when Clarence Zerhusen discovered his 15-year-old son David was smoking, he didn’t demand that the boy stop. Instead, Zerhusen explained how he himself had started smoking early and become so addicted to nicotine that it was nearly impossible to stop, despite his annoying and persistent cough. The result of describing his own mistake first was that David reconsidered and never did start smoking.

To make yourself likeable, smile, listen and remember the names of others. People crave appreciation so shower them with it and talk about what’s important to them. Avoid arguments and never criticize others as this will not help you get your way. If you want someone to change, be lavish and generous with your praise, encouraging them for every bit of progress they make. Admit your own mistakes openly and only call attention to the mistakes of others indirectly.

[kiribakus]

man remember project metis

here is literally everything i have written for the third chapter of Project Metis since i probs won’t get to it for a while

****Chapter Three: they told us we could be whatever wewanted, and we chose puppies***

FILE: TODOROKI SHOUTO

MILITARY RANK:Special Officer

DIVISION: HybridStrike Corps, Musutafu Base, PPDC

ACCESS: Omega Level

AGE: 5

HEIGHT: 176cm

ALTER EGO: “Shouto”

PACK AFFILIATION:Apollo Pack

PACK RANK: Point

STRAIN: Alpha

POINT OF ORIGIN:Endeavor Project

DESCRIPTION:Category Five; dragon-like; long, serpentine body; six eyes, heterochromia;spines and vents down back, spines trailing down to make a heavily spiked tail,note crown of horns and white shoulder spikes; red sheen over black scales

QUIRK: half-cold,half-hot; can expel magma from mouth and propel ice from shoulder spikes; canchange temperature of hide at will

FILE: MIDORIYA IZUKU

MILITARY RANK:Special Officer

DIVISION: HybridStrike Corps, Musutafu Base, PPDC

ACCESS: Omega Level

AGE: 25

HEIGHT: 166cm

ALTER EGO: “Deku”

PACK AFFILIATION:Apollo Pack

PACK RANK: Flank

STRAIN: Alpha

POINT OF ORIGIN:Lycaon Project

DESCRIPTION:Category Three; lion-like; smaller but strong feline build; thick, curlingmane; green sheen over black scales and mane; beaked face, thick hide, dullspikes, massive claws on heavy paws

QUIRK: “one forall”; incredible physical strength

MARCH 17, 2035  8:32 HOURS

LOCATION: LOCCENTMission Control, Musutafu Base, Japan

Urarakahides a yawn behind her clipboard and doesn’t notice the person sneaking upbehind her.

“That’s agood look on you,” Aizawa says, coming to a stop beside her.

Urarakasqueaks and blushes, peeking out from behind her clipboard and glaring atAizawa. “Sensei!” she exclaims. “You shouldn’t sneak up on a lady like that!”

The cornerof Aizawa’s mouth twitches. “How are they?”

Urarakalowers the clipboard and turns to the holographic screens displaying a herd ofthousand-ton monsters running, swatting at each other, leaping, and all inall…playing around. On screen, Mina bites Kirishima’s tail and he yelps.Uraraka smiles. Then, straightening her back, she delivers her report.

“Artemispack seems to be in top-tier condition,” she says. “The test run a couple daysago showed no sign of shifting pack structure—Bakugou is still clearly thepoint of the pack. Ojiro and Shouji aren’t showing signs of discontent as rearguards, and Tokoyami is as usual, submissive to Bakugou. Any worries we hadabout Kirishima vying for Bakugou’s position are null. All our results suggestthat his insubordinate acts help Bakugou blow off steam. He’s acting as theregulator for the pack.”

“Good,”Aizawa says. “I’m still worried he’s a powder keg on the brink of exploding,but…”

But weneed him. Urarakanods. She gets it. “Apollo pack is due for a test run soon, but I don’t haveany worries about shifting pack structure. As a rule, they tend to be steadierthan Artemis pack anyway. That kaiju takedown illustrates just how functionalthey are as a pack. My only concern would be that they rely on Todoroki alittle much, but all his psych analyses come back with negligible worries. He’sa machine when it comes to leading; I’ll never understand how you managed topry him from Todoroki-sensei’s hands.”

“It cameat a high cost,” Aizawa says. “Sometimes I wonder if I have yet to realize allI gave up for him.” He frowns.

“I believeIida briefed you on the results of Alpha Strain’s routine check?” Uraraka says.

Aizawanods. “Yes, and I did look over the test run results briefly when they came out.What I really need to know from you is how the officers themselves are doing.”

Urarakarolls her eyes. “Well, Artemis pack is doing as well as their kaijucounterparts. They’re not…close…like Apollo pack is, but they have anunderstanding. They work together when they’re needed and their ties arestrong. I think Ojiro feels inferior,” she says, frowning. “Tokoyami and Shoujibalance and rely on each other. Kirishima and Bakugou balance and rely on eachother. But Ojiro has no one. I want to look into that.”

“AndApollo pack?”

“Like afamily,” Uraraka says proudly. “Midoriya and Tsuyu might as well be siblings.Mina gets along with everyone, and Kouda is protected and looked after by hispack. Todoroki is respected and loved.” Her smile fades a little. “Midoriyatold me he’s been having those nightmares again. He had one so bad it woke uphis packmates, the morning before the double event.”

“Is it aproblem?” Aizawa asks.

“As aresearcher, it’s not my place to say,” Uraraka says. “It’s Todoroki’sresponsibility to get Midoriya in to a psychiatrist if he thinks the nightmaresare affecting Midoriya adversely. I trust his judgment. He’s logical andclear-headed, and if he thought Midoriya was dragging his pack down, he’d doanything to fix it. But Midoriya performed well during the battle, so it can’tbe affecting him that much. As a researcher, I think it’s okay to let it go.”

“But as afriend…” Aizawa trails off.

Urarakasighs. “As a friend, I don’t like to see him suffer. I worry Todoroki is beingtoo cold, but I’m not in their heads. I don’t feel what they feel. I don’t knowif Midoriya can handle it, even if he thinks he can.”

“Thankyou, Uraraka,” Aizawa says. “For now, I’ll advise the Marshal to withdrawApollo pack from any encounters with return kaiju until we can get Midoriyaanalyzed properly. No special treatment aside from that; if he thinks he canhandle it, I’ll let him try. But I’m not throwing one of my best officers intoa situation where a trauma-induced moment of hesitation could kill him if I canhelp it.”

“Is itbecause he’s a good officer, or because he’s Alpha Strain?” Uraraka asksquietly. Not quietly enough, though, because Aizawa gives her a sharp look.

“If youwant to talk favoritism and human rights with me—”

“No, no,I’m sorry,” Uraraka says. “It just slipped out. I understand even if I don’tlike it.”

“Good,”Aizawa says. “We don’t look it, but we’re skating on thin ice here. The lastthing I need is one of my closest to start doubting our cause.”

“I don’tdoubt us,” Uraraka says. “But they are my friends, too.”

“Then youknow better than any of us why we can’t have anyone too nosy poking their headinto what we do,” Aizawa says.

Urarakanods.

Aizawajerks his head towards the door. “I’m going to check in at R&D. Make sureour officers don’t kill each other, won’t you.” He turns away sharply.

Urarakasighs and collapses into a chair, rubbing her temples. Ah, she had ruined hergood mood. Why couldn’t she keep her mouth shut?

She looksup at the kaiju moving millions of gallons of water like it was nothing as theypounce on each other and roll and snarl, jaws parted in what might as well besmiles. Aizawa-sensei was right that they were soldiers who lived to fight, butthey were also human underneath the mass of scales and claws and teeth and fur.They were human and they needed to be treated as such. Aizawa-sensei couldn’tseparate their human and kaiju selves, couldn’t help but see the whole picture;it was only logical, but also terribly heartless.

She wishesIida were here. Iida always knew how to phrase his concerns logically. He wasalways on the same wavelength as Aizawa-sensei, but Iida had a heart. Hecared for their friends as much as she did. He knew that Aizawa-sensei’s waysweren’t fair and he would find a way to word it so that Aizawa-sensei wouldagree. Uraraka thinks about calling him, just to hear his steady voice and havehim talk her down but no, she had taken this shift to allow him to sleep in foronce. She wouldn’t wake him up even if the sound of his voice, heavy withsleep, brought peace to her mind.

Besides,she loved this part of her job. She loved the kaiju. That’s why she was here andwhy she put up with the ethical dilemmas of their work. And to think UrarakaOchako, a woman fresh out of graduate school, could befriend the groundbreakinghybrids and work alongside the legendary Aizawa-sensei to keep them all safe—

Shefrowns, and then swears softly. Speaking of safe…

She poundsthe com. “LOCCENT to HYCOM, what the hell are you guys doing? They’re going tokill each other! Get on it, officers!”

MARCH 17, 2035  8:15 HOURS

LOCATION: MusutafuTraining Bay, Musutafu Base, Japan

Enrichmentdays, Midoriya thinks, are awesome.

Urarakahad told him why enrichment was an important part of keeping their kaijuhealthy and their mental health stable, but Midoriya couldn’t really fathom allthat science-y mumbo jumbo. All he knew is that his hundred-foot long lungswere heaving and he hadn’t felt this alive in days.

Ojiro’sear frills lift and then lower, a taunt. He’s poised and ready to leap, rear inthe air and spayed out in front of him, a reptilian dog ready to play. Midoriyatenses his own haunches and leaps out and to the side, ready to pounce onOjiro’s unprotected flank. Ojiro tears away from him, long blue tongue hangingout of his mouth as he pants. Midoriya chases him, hind legs bunching as hepicks up speed.

They teararound the group of kaiju in an outer circle, so fast Midoriya can feel thewind whistle past his ears. Ojiro makes for the relative safety of Shouji’stentacles. He’s right—Midoriya won’t run under Shouji’s body because he doesn’thave a death wish. Shouji eyes him with what Midoriya guesses is amusement.Tokoyami, draped across the slope of his back like a black, feathery ridge,ruffles his wings in irritation at the disturbance. Midoriya huffs. He bats atone of Shouji’s tentacles and gets another two slithering out after him.

Yelping,Midoriya jumps away. Shouji makes a sound that is definitely amusement.Tokoyami, decidedly woken from his dozing atop Shouji’s back sits up and glaresat Midoriya for a moment before beginning to clean Shouji’s scales with hisbeak and claws. Shouji makes an appreciative noise and lowers himself into thewater. Ojiro, realizing his protection is about to crush him, scurries out andright into Midoriya’s waiting paws.

Midoriyabody slams him, knocking them into a wrestling match in the water, jaws partedand snarling, the flats of their paws batting at each other. They’re careful toavoid each other’s spines. Ojiro gets to his feet and starts to run again, butMidoriya grabs onto his hind leg and drags him down, pushing him onto his backand holding him down with a heavy paw. Ojiro huffs.

You win.

Thehivemind is alive with emotions and thoughts and impressions from all thehybrids but Midoriya can pick out Ojiro’s voice easily, warm and amused, just alittle disappointed. This is why Midoriya was a flank and he was rear guard,though. It was only a natural result.

Midoriyalets Ojiro get to his feet and bumps shoulders with him affectionately,brushing their hides together from shoulder blade to hip. Midoriya feels aspike of pain and hears Ojiro exhale sharply and he pulls back, alarmed.

Shoulderouchpulled, Ojiro projects and Midoriya canfeel the faint throbbing as if it were his own pain. He sniffs at the sore spoton Ojiro’s shoulder, projecting his own worryconcernwasitme?

Ojiroshakes his head; he had landed funny on his leg when running from under Shouji.Midoriya laps at the sore spot anyway, as if he could take the pain away justfrom cleaning it. Ojiro pushes at Midoriya with his nose, appreciating thesentiment. He pads off to see Bakugou probably, who will look at his injury,snort, and say well, what do you want me to do about it?

Morelikely he’ll point out that it’ll heal when they shift back so Ojiro shouldjust deal with it, but Midoriya doesn’t want to give Bakugou that much credit. Ever.Hey, when one of your own kind nearly shreds you for trying to play fight withhim, it sticks with you.

Hispartner gone, Midoriya turns back to find a new bloodmate to brawl with. Minahas taken to leaping up in the air and swatting at Tokoyami on Shouji’s back,who screeches at her and claws back. Shouji doesn’t seem too perturbed byTokoyami’s distress. Their section of the hivemind is an almost sibling-likesquabble, easily dismissed as not real fighting.

Ojiro andBakugou are together. Kirishima is dodging Tsuyu’s attempts to smack him withher tongue, and underestimating her speed if that yip is anything to go by. Todoroki,predictably, isn’t engaging in the fun and instead sits off to the side, stillmanaging to look elegant with the long column of his neck extended and the sunglinting off the sharpness of his facial features. Kouda sits beside him, theonly kaiju bigger than Todoroki, head on his paws and eyes closed, taking inthe sunlight on his rock-like hide.

Midoriyaapproaches Todoroki, bobbing his head. It’s a causal invitation to play. Koudalooks up, senses Midoriya’s intention, and moves off towards Shouji with apassing good luck offered to Midoriya. Todoroki blinks slowly.

He regardsMidoriya with passing interest, showing no intention of getting up from wherehe’s comfortably splayed in one hundred feet of water.

Midoriyatries again. Runchasejumpcatch? He suggests. Bitepawgrowlplay?

Idon’t, Todorokireplies. You go.

Midoriyawhines. Not pack without you.

Artemisis here, Todorokipoints out. Bother them.

ButMidoriya doesn’t want to bother them. He wants to see Todoroki get up and dosomething, enjoy himself for once. Todoroki’s always so stone-faced andbusiness-minded; he never got a break. This is their break. Theirscheduled time off to play like the puppies at heart they all were.

Midoriyanot-so-delicately swipes a paw through the water and splashes Todoroki in theface.

Todoroki,to his credit, doesn’t react as angrily as he could have. His shoulders tense,but other than that he doesn’t move, dripping with water. His scales glitterand then he’s covered in steam, burning away the salt water. He exhales loudlyonce, expelling salt from his nostrils. He’s not amused.

Midoriya,however, is. He runs in a circle around Todoroki, continuing to splash him whileTodoroki burns away all the water. He paws at and chews on Todoroki’s tailuntil Todoroki shifts and growls at him. He actually gets Todoroki to whip hishead around and shift towards him. Midoriya leaps back, but Todoroki doesn’tfollow. He’s almost got him, though. Midoriya pads back towards him andheadbutts his shoulder affectionately, rubbing against him like a cat.

Todorokigrowls again and Midoriya does it again. He can feel the tension in Todoroki’sbody and his mind, irritated by Midoriya’s pushiness. As always, his mind isimpenetrable, but Midoriya can tell it’s a swirling mess right now. He probablyshouldn’t taunt Todoroki too much—he was much stronger than Midoriya,and bigger, too.

Midoriyaflicks his tail across Todoroki’s nose almost flirtatiously and Todoroki snaps.He gets to his feet faster than Midoriya expected and swipes at him. Midoriya’sfast enough to get away with only a few scales off his hide, but Todoroki canreach far.

The chasedoesn’t last long. Midoriya knows to run hard when he’s irritated Todoroki thismuch, but Todoroki has speed, length, and power and Midoriya’s only purpose inagitating him was to get him up and running anyway. Todoroki swipes Midoriya’slegs out from under him and Midoriya goes down, rolling onto his back.

Todorokiis on him in a second, hovering above Midoriya and prodding at him with one pawwhile Midoriya flattens his ears and growls, his muzzle crinkled into a snarl.Todoroki prods at his cheek and Midoriya hisses, swatting at his paw. Todorokijabs at him again and again, Midoriya on defense but still belly-up,vulnerable.

ThenTodoroki lets out a low, rumbling growl and parts his jaws, making a clickingnoise. His paws are on either side of Midoriya’s shoulders and he dominates thehivemind, pushing against Midoriya’s consciousness and subduing him.

Midoriya’sgrowl peters out and his muzzle flattens. He makes a small, chuffing noise andlowers his paws, allowing Todoroki to nose along his neck, nipping at the softskin he finds there. He’s completely limp under Todoroki’s ministrations andwhen Todoroki nips at his chin, Midoriya dares to lick his chin. Todorokigrowls softly, pleased. He parts his jaws and wraps them around Midoriya’smouth. Midoriya goes still and allows Todoroki to shake him a little and pressa paw over his heart, claws kneading Midoriya’s vulnerable underbelly.

This iscomplete submission.

Todorokireleases him a moment later and steps off him, eyeing Midoriya one last time.The hivemind is grudging fondness from Todoroki and a sense of satisfactionfrom his kaiju specifically at Midoriya’s submission. The rest of Apollo packare pings against Midoriya’s mind, vying for Todoroki’s attention next.Todoroki steps away from Midoriya, but not before the tip of his tail brushesagainst Midoriya’s nose.

Midoriya’sheart sings with so much pleasure, he knows it reaches the rest of hisbloodmates through the hivemind. Mina snorts, but she’s Todoroki’s next target,rolling on her back easily and grabbing at his face to lap at his chin,playfully submitting to her point.

Kirishima,inspired by Midoriya’s display, bumps Bakugou. Unlike Todoroki, though, Bakugoudoesn’t tolerate any kind of playfulness. Her turns on Kirishima in an instant,snarling. Kirishima barks back, pawing at Bakugou, playing with fire. Bakugoucharges him and Kirishima hops back swatting at his face. Bakugou knocks himoff balance immediately. Kirishima falls onto his belly and Bakugou climbs overhim, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck.

The fightgoes from Kirishima’s body immediately and he lets Bakugou give him a few roughshakes, snapping his head back and forth. Midoriya winces in sympathy. It lookslike it hurts, but when Bakugou releases Kirishima, there are no teeth marks inhis neck. Kirishima sinks bonelessly into the water, turning over curling hispaws over his chest, whining.

Bakugouignores him. Kirishima whines louder. Kidding, kidding! The hivemindsays.

Kirishimaplaces a paw against Bakugou’s muzzle and Bakugou’s lips pull away from hisgums with the force of his growl. Don’t touch me.

Aw, Bakugou…Kirishima plays cute harder, thistime wagging his tail.

Bakugousnorts. I hate you, he says.

Kirishimadoesn’t say ‘I adore you’ in so many words, but his love for Bakugou isn’texactly subtle across the hivemind. Even Midoriya can feel the force of it.This time, when Kirishima presses a paw to Bakugou’s muzzle, Bakugou knocks itaside so he can lean down and nip at Kirishima’s chin. Kirishima’s tail goeswild.

Bakugousteps off him and Midoriya huffs at Kirishima. Gross, he says.

Kirishimamight as well grin at him, tongue lolling out of his mouth. He flips onto hisstomach and growls gently at Midoriya. Midoriya growls back, tensing to leap onhim.

Bakugouthrows himself between them, jaws parted as wide as he can spread them, and roars.

Bakugou isnot Midoriya’s point. But he is a dominant member of a pack and Midoriya, alower rank than him, cowers back, tail tucking between his legs and earsfolding back. He shrinks into a ball, unable to run as his muscles lock.

Bakugoudoesn’t have a chance to make a move. Todoroki is at Midoriya’s side and infront of him with an ear-splitting roar of his own.

The twopoints square off, roaring at each other and posturing. The rest of their packsslink away save for Midoriya and Kirishima, frozen with fear and confusion thatinnocent playing had instigated a point-versus-point battle.

Bakugou’sjaw frills extend and shake, brilliant red-orange sunbursts against the purewhite of his scales. He’s intimidatingly large and fierce, but Todoroki is notshaken. He flares his own spines and ear frills, and the vents running down hisback hiss and spit steam. Their heads starts low but slowly rise in tandem witheach other until Todoroki’s height beats Bakugou’s.

Bakugoustrikes first. He swipes at Todoroki’s neck, but it isn’t with the flat of hispaw as he had swatted at Kirishima—this was with claws extended, hoping to tearTodoroki’s throat open. Todoroki bats him away, but then Bakugou is throwing himselfat Todoroki, standing on his hind legs to use both paws to punch at Todoroki’sface. Todoroki mirrors him and they fight like tigers, dueling with their frontpaws and then dropping to all fours so they can try to ram each other withtheir bodies before standing back up again.

Todorokishould be faster than Bakugou, but Bakugou is angrier. He manages to sink hisclaws in the flesh of Todoroki’s hind leg and hold on as Todoroki snarls andtries to throw him off. Bakugou locks his entire body onto that haunch andtears at Todoroki’s leg with his back legs, trying to cripple him, but Todorokidoesn’t let him. The steam that spews from his vents grows hotter, as do hisscales, and in one burst, he forces super-boiled steam into Bakugou’s rightthree eyes and burns the skin off the pads of the paws hooked onto him.

Bakugouhowls in pain and lets him go. When they stand face-to-face again, Bakugou isblind in three eyes and his scales are ashen and flaking off where Todorokiburned him. Todoroki is limping, his back left leg shredded. They circle eachother and Midoriya feels for the first time, the seriousness of this fight.

SPECIALOFFICERS BAKUGOU AND TODOROKI STAND DOWN, IMMEDIATELY, Yaoyorozu shouts over thehivemind, using HYCOM’s controls to amplify the volume of her voice so that itdrowns out the rest of the thoughts and voices of the hivemind. Bakugou,Todoroki, and the rest of the hybrids wince at the loudness. Kouda tries tocover his ears with his paws.

All ofyou are to return to base for a debrief at once, Yaoyorozu commands. You arenot to engage each other on the way to base or I will personally see youturned off from the Hybrid Strike Corps.

Before hecan help himself, Bakugou thinks, Sure you will. There are so manyplaces for a kaiju hybrid to go.

Itwould be my absolute pleasure to turn you off and watch the Jaeger teams tearyou apart,Yaoyorozu says heatedly.

Letthem try, Bakugousays, bearing his teeth.

Bakugou, Mina speaks up before anyone elsecan. That’s enough.

Like Iwanna hear that from you,Bakugou says, but the fight is gone from his mind and his limbs. He andTodoroki limp back to their exit bays, tension still humming across thehivemind. Their packs follow, subdued. The mood of contentment and relaxationfizzles out like steam in open air.

MARCH 17, 2035  9:07 HOURS

LOCATION:Shatterdome, Musutafu Base, Japan

[michellelewis7162]

Ideal Restaurant Lynchburg And Types As Well As Characteristics Of Best Restaurants

Ideal Restaurant Lynchburg And Types As Well As Characteristics Of Best Restaurants

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 Properly, reckon what? As there is with everything worth while, there are actually those couple of individuals that do try to replicate these restaurant recipes to the Nth degree. You can just about refer to them as dish cyberpunks. They can be moms, specialists or dads as well as regardless of who, these individuals possess a target and is going to put in the amount of time and attempt to break a dish down. They would like to identify the information of that signature taste and also duplicate it in a style that truly does mimic the authentic taste. Focus, devotion as well as the last will and testament to do well is a should for a lot of these individuals. There are actually also those that are actually just excellent cooks and by means of their expertise as well as user-friendly nature manage to hone in on the initial restaurant recipe. I possess some experience preparing food as well as can easily observe a dish, however, I absolutely am certainly not a dining establishment recipe cyberpunk United States.

 If it is a difficult task to try to copy or imitate a prosperous genuine post then why do others make an effort to copy it?

 It often times may be associated with amount of money and other people intending to get in on the action. There likewise those that are going to do it to find if they may spare some money. Some may also hope to polish on the authentic. It could be for additional reasons like prestige or private challenge for honor and maybe even some boots. Presume regarding this, comics can get even more laughs if they are good at mimicing some one else? If they are truly proficient at it, this assists bring additional individuals to their program.

 Just like is done with plenty of other factors that are created, there is actually consistently a team of these intrigued people that like to do points on their own. These individuals are going to walk out of their method to steal preferred dishes coming from each one of these dining establishments. I would venture to state that if one were actually to talk to much of these DIY (Perform It Yourself) people, it would certainly be actually predominantly in an effort to be capable to spare money as a principal factor originally. Don't forget previously I discussed that 49% of the dollar invested in meals is actually cooperated the bistro sector? That is a bunch of money that a person can easily conserve!

 Loan or even the investing of it, is really exactly how and why I began to remember of these bistro duplicate dishes. I have actually been assessing our loved ones investing practices and when considering grocery stores vs. dining, I was actually fairly shocked. Dining out has become a practice for our team as well as while it is actually one that our company carry out appreciate, it is actually likewise one that has actually been actually building up significantly. This is actually what began that flickering of the outdated illumination bulb for myself as well as my loved ones United States.

 I consider on my own to be in that DIY group of folks on a lot of traits and while I have actually come to take pleasure in carrying out a lot of factors on my own (Not each of the moment mind you.), I realize the effect of knowing exactly how to do something yourself may as well as has conserved me a good volume of amount of money. Coming from auto repair work to house woodworking, it likewise has actually opened my eyes to cherish what others are performing as an organisation for their resources. If I do not carry out one thing myself, it has actually aided bring in a variation in wiser investing as effectively as saving amount of money even.

 Recognizing that my family members has created this habit of eating out more than eating at residence, acquiring all of them to consume typical residence cooked foods regularly is not heading to be to effortless. The flickering light bulb second or suggestion discussed earlier was to find concerning receiving some recipes from the bistros that I can prepare at house with the tip of conserving some money. I also began to view how our company have shed contact along with the skill of food preparation. Our experts sure possess all end up being professionals of the microwave, but the remainder of the kitchen area begins to receive a little bit of questionable United States.

 The experience started in hunt of restaurant dishes. The majority of restaurants perform not break down their recipes and why will they? They may lose a yield consumer if they carried out. I do see some bistros that are actually offering a few of their food selection items in the food store much more than before, yet form of restricting it to just a few products. I have actually also checked out an individual that will ask the cooks for their dishes and how some could blow the grains from time to time, but once again, reasonably restricted end results.

 I always remember one-time my better half and also I went to a Denny's bistro behind time one night and the amount of our team appreciated their marinara sauce made use of along with the mozzarella catches we had purchased. Our company inquired the waitress regarding it and also she carried out talk to the cooks on that particular, yet they definitely didn't recognize much regarding it and also our team thank her for trying. Our experts additionally got an unforeseen surprise when our company got the check. She emphasized a huge vacuum closed plastic bag of the marinara sauce coming from what appeared to be straight from their meals vendor. Our experts failed to get the dish but our experts sure acquired a sizable volume of dressing to earn. It performs pay to ask and also while you may or even might certainly not obtain a dish directly you certainly never recognize what may happen I think.

 There are actually obviously a really good amount of books, many articles on the internet and also various websites all asserting either accessibility to or having themselves, bistro keys as well as copycats recipes for numerous favorite American bistros. Whew, it type of makes my head rotate a little, yet in order to assist me achieve this mission of mine it has been worth the initiative. Numerous websites are suggesting the very same vital original resources (recipe hackers) of the counterfeit or imitators dishes and also in my adventure this is normally a great tip as an affordable area to begin.

 There is actually constantly somebody who highlights their expertise and breakthrough of traits that have actually had influence on their lifestyle with how and why they did it. Sometimes they get back at better into it and also start industrying their efforts to generate some additional revenue. It may be actually the end result of a pal or even member of the family that cheers all of them on, however if it is actually flourished as well as the premium exists, it many times finds enough attention to create it worth the even though. Plus, there are always others that have like interests. It truly becomes a win-win for everyone and can spark on even more suggestions and also experiences from others that are actually intrigued.

 As with anything, one has to dip their feet in and obtain a taste of it naturally. I have actually been actually trying out a number of these imitation bistro dishes sources and have actually been actually absolutely amazed. I have actually been finding out a whole lot much more than 1st notion and it has actually been actually a lot of exciting to top it off. The people who have produced these copycat dishes have truly performed an amazing job. My quest is actually to spare some loan obviously, but creating a few of these recipes is actually additionally an excellent method to know how to cook. Deal with it momentarily, one can actually know how to prepare a starter, entre or even pudding that they recognize is actually efficient at their beloved dining establishment as well as acquire terrific outcomes for their effort right out of eviction. I don't understand about you, yet I get a fantastic sense of accomplishment when taking time to find out one thing as well as it exercises.

 Must you receive the urge to try these imitation or top secret dishes of the restaurants, I assume you are going to be greater than pleasingly surprised. I recognize I have actually been. If you intend to save some funds, discover how to cook or even simply to find one of your beloved bistro dishes, you will not lament it.

 I have certainly not made an effort any of the "700 FREE dining establishment dishes" kind of sources online. They may be alright too, having said that, it has been my adventure that if one thing is really worth while, there need to be actually some price associated for the effort of making it offered. They undoubtedly do not need to be expensive either. The majority of expense regarding the same as a pleasant dinner for two as well as can consist of additional information coming from creating wine to expanding your own cannabis if you remain in to that. It is truly quite awesome what some have featured alongside the dish books they are advertising.

 Similar to anything, do spend some time to evaluate just before creating any type of acquisition obviously, once you perform receive your feets wet have some enjoyable and also be actually readied to be astounded with the results.

 When franchising, numerous kinds of help are actually available. Independent restaurants are relatively quick and easy to open up. All you need to have is actually a few 1000 dollars, a knowledge of dining establishment functions, and also a powerful desire to.

prosper. The benefit for private restaurateurs is actually that they can" perform their personal thing" in terms of principle advancement, menus, design, and more. Unless our behaviors and taste adjustment significantly, there is actually loads of area for individual dining establishments in specific areas. Restaurants go as well as happen. Some independent dining establishments will turn into small chains, and also larger companies will definitely get small chains.

 As soon as little establishments display development as well as popularity, they are actually very likely to be bought out by a much larger company or will definitely have the capacity to obtain loan for expansion. An urge for the beginning restaurateur is actually to monitor sizable bistros in major urban areas as well as to strongly believe that their effectiveness could be replicated in secondary areas. Reading through the restaurant evaluates in New York City, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, Chicago, Washington, D.C., or even San Francisco may give the feeling that unique restaurants may be replicated in Des Moines, Kansas City, or even Main Town, USA. As a result of demographics, these indigenous or high-style bistros will certainly not click in little areas and also communities.

 Will choose training from all-time low up and deal with all places of the bistro's operation Franchising includes the minimum monetary danger because the bistro style, consisting of building concept, advertising and marketing, and also menu plannings, presently have been assessed in the marketplace. Franchise business bistros are much less very likely to fail than independent dining establishments. The factor is that the concept is actually confirmed and the operating operations are actually established along with all (or most) of the kinks worked out. Training is offered, and marketing and also control assistance are actually on call. The enhanced possibility of effectiveness performs certainly not come cheap.

 Absolute best restaurant Lynchburg duplicate dishes is merely a words that describes recipes that copy those of a certain restaurant or dining establishments. There are of training course a really good amount of publications, numerous short articles countless as well as internet websites all asserting either access to or possessing on their own, bistro secrets as well as imitators dishes for lots of beloved American bistros. Going through the bistro assesses in New York City, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, Chicago, Washington, D.C., or San Francisco might provide the perception that uncommon restaurants may be reproduced in Des Moines, Kansas City, or Main Town, USA. Will go for training coming from the bottom up and also deal with all regions of the restaurant's operation Franchising includes the minimum monetary danger in that the restaurant format, featuring structure concept, food selection, and advertising strategies, presently have actually been checked in the industry. Franchise business restaurants are less likely to go tummy up than private dining establishments.

[internetbloga]

Restaurant Imitation Recipes - Who, What, Where and Why

Restaurant imitation recipes is simply a phrase that describes recipes that imitate those of a certain restaurant or restaurants. The word, imitation, defines anything that may resemble or copy that of an original or genuine article. To copy or imitate an original source is a testament to the credibility of that source for the quality it provides. If it was not of high quality, no one would even make the effort to imitate or copy it. It has also been said that the imitation of anything is a form of flattery, but not every imitation is exactly flattering. murasaki Sushi

Food is sort of boring in that the basic forms are the same. There may be certain varieties to some degree and some times highly advertised as an edge to promote it, however, chicken is chicken, beef is beef, broccoli is broccoli and so on right? How these get prepared and put together to be served though, is what truly makes the difference.

Recipes for these foods have been handed down through the generations using the basic forms of preparation from the skillet, ovens and grills, to boiling pots and now microwaves. Keen thought and purpose to introduce new combinations of spices, sauces and marinades to these basic methods help to enhance the flavors of these basic foods. This is, has and will continue to be goal of many people and certainly with restaurants to help set their style and food apart from others.

This may be a silly reflection, but highlights the points mentioned above. When I was growing up, I could not stand the taste of cauliflower. I saw no purpose for this food. To me, it was a useless vegetable that took up space on our planet. I am not joking! Later, when I actually worked in a supper club, one of the appetizers we served was deep fried cauliflower with a side of cheese sauce. Ever since then, cauliflower has become one of my favorite foods and in all of the traditional ways, from raw to steamed and I still love the deep fried method as well. If it were not for that deep fried recipe, I may never have had the pleasure of enjoying this healthy and now tasty food.

I think it is important to recognize Restaurants themselves, whether they be a fast food, independent, mom and pop, big chain type or even 5 star, all bring in millions of people every day across our nation. Their business is simply to serve and sell us as many items from their food and drink menus in an atmosphere where we can relax and enjoy. It is true though that many of these restaurants have worked hard to develop their own signature recipes, techniques and themes to set themselves apart. They spend millions on advertising their uniqueness to keep bringing customers back for more. The restaurant business is a huge business and very competitive.

How big is the restaurant industry in the U.S.?

According to the National Restaurant Association, it is estimated the industry to reach $604 billion dollars in sales for 2011. That is $1.7 billion on a typical day. There are 960,000 locations nationwide that employee approximately 12.8 million people and get this, of the dollars spent on food in the U.S., 49% is shared with the restaurant industry. I don't know about you, but that is some serious cabbage. It is also goes to show why restaurants are certainly a credible authority and why someone may go out of their way to imitate or copy a recipe or two.

If you were to choose any one of your favorite restaurants or even one that may just be starting up, this same basic description will apply. This restaurant will make a discovery of a new method or combination of sauces or seasonings for a new food recipe. I should say, they work at making the discovery, putting in time and effort initially, so this new recipe could be tried and tested over and over until finally reaching the menu. The restaurant may advertise the new release to let the public know it has a great new recipe to come in and try out. Ideally it becomes a success and a featured item on their menu. If the public loves it, the restaurant has another source of new revenue. In the case of a new startup, it could also be a featured recipe that helps them to get noticed to help get them off the ground and running overall.

Believe it or not, restaurants themselves can be considered one of the biggest copy cat artists out there but in a way that doesn't try to make an exact copy, They will proceed in a way that may use the same name of the dish, but pride themselves to make theirs stand out differently by adding their own signature touch and right down to what else may be included in addition to the entree to help set it apart from others.

With the exception of serve your self style of service, restaurants basically copy each other on the overall operating format of how the customers are served and taken care of right down to including "similar" items being listed on the menus. They all keep a watchful eye on each other to see what is working well and may change a menu, method of service, cost or whatever the case may be to accommodate current customers and coax new paying customers to spend money in their establishments. It is a constant see saw battle.

Regardless of these restaurants copying and competing with each other for our dollars, they clearly are the bar to which we compare the taste of our favorite foods to. They continue push each other in developing recipes, techniques and signature menus that keep us coming back for more. We all have our favorite menu items and while one person may prefer one restaurant over another for a particular entree or appetizer, the fact is, they all are a genuine article and clearly worth the effort to imitate.

Just a note, in regard to businesses (especially non-restaurant) some have to take steps and go further and get patents or licenses on their discoveries to help protect them from being copied. With restaurants, it is a little tougher as getting patents and licensing on food is much more difficult and not quite the same as building up a new technological advance like an I-pad. Restaurants may need to have some legal assistance and agreements arranged with their employees to not give up any secrets to their signature ways in effort to keep their secrets in-house should an employee decide to leave. There have been some court cases where a cook or chef leaves and starts a new restaurant using the same signature methods but calling it something else and well... more money spent to get it straightened out.

Over time, there have been many others that have tried to imitate a restaurant recipe from grocery store food suppliers, right down to good ole Mom. Ask them all and most would agree that the task may not be so easy to recreate. There are those that come up with recipes that are similar in general yet lack that signature flavor of a specific restaurant. Have you ever tried to make something just like your favorite restaurant and while it turned out ok, it just didn't quite taste the same as what TGIF or Olive Garden serves? I know I have and it seemed like all the effort was fine, but the result, on a scale of 1 to 10, was maybe a 6 at best. To get a 9 or 10 just seems impossible and you are better off giving up and just go to the restaurant instead.

Well, guess what? As there is with anything worth while, there are those few people who do try to imitate these restaurant recipes to the Nth degree. You could almost refer to them as recipe hackers. They can be moms, dads or professionals and no matter who, these people have a goal and will put in the time and effort to break a recipe down. They want to figure out the details of that signature flavor and replicate it in a fashion that truly does imitate the original flavor. Focus, dedication and the will to succeed is a must for many of these individuals. There are also those who are simply great cooks and through their experience and intuitive nature are able to hone in on the original restaurant recipe. I have some experience cooking and can follow a recipe, but, I certainly am not a restaurant recipe hacker.

If it is a difficult task to try to copy or imitate a successful genuine article then why do others try to imitate it?

Great question.

It often times can be related to money and someone else wanting to get in on the action. There also those that will do it to see if they can save some money. Some may even look to make improvements on the original. It can be for other reasons like notoriety or personal challenge for pride and maybe even some kicks. Think about this, comedians can get more laughs if they are good at imitating some one else right? If they are really good at it, this helps bring more people to their show.

Just as is done with so many other things that are made, there is always a group of these interested individuals that like to do things themselves. These people will go out of their way to copy favorite recipes from all of these restaurants. I would venture to say that if one were to interview many of these DIY (Do It Yourself) people, it would be primarily in an effort to be able to save money as a main reason initially. Remember earlier I mentioned that 49% of the dollar spent on food is shared in the restaurant industry? That is a lot of dough that one can save!

Money or the spending of it, is actually how and why I began to take note of these restaurant imitation recipes. I have been reviewing our family spending habits and when looking at groceries vs. dining, I was actually pretty shocked. Dining out has become a habit for us and while it is one that we do enjoy, it is also one that has been adding up significantly. This is what started that flickering of the old light bulb for myself and my family.

I consider myself to be in that DIY group of people on a number of things and while I have come to enjoy doing many things myself (Not all of the time mind you.), I realize the impact of learning how to do something yourself can and has saved me a good amount of money. From car repairs to home carpentry, it also has opened my eyes to appreciate what others are doing as a business for their livelihoods. It has helped make a difference in wiser spending as well as saving money even if I do not do something myself.

Knowing that my family has developed this habit of eating out more than eating at home, getting them to eat typical home cooked meals more often is not going to be to easy. The flickering light bulb moment or idea mentioned earlier was to see about getting some recipes from the restaurants that I could cook at home with the idea of saving some money initially. I also began to see how we have lost touch with the skill of cooking. We sure have all become masters of the microwave, but the rest of the kitchen starts to get a little sketchy.

So the journey began in search of restaurant recipes. Most restaurants do not give out their recipes and why would they? They might lose a return customer if they did. I do see some restaurants that are selling some of their menu items in the grocery stores more than before, but sort of limiting it to just a few items. I have also read about a person that would ask the cooks for their recipes and how some might spill the beans once in awhile, but again, fairly limited results.

I remember one time my wife and I were at a Denny's restaurant late one night and how much we enjoyed their marinara sauce used with the mozzarella sticks we had ordered. We asked the waitress about it and she did check with the cooks on that, but they really didn't know much about it and we thank her for trying. When we got the check, we also got an unexpected surprise. She brought out a large vacuum sealed plastic bag of the marinara sauce from what appeared to be directly from their food supplier. We didn't get the recipe but we sure got a large quantity of sauce to bring home. So it does pay to ask and while you may or may not get a recipe directly you never know what might happen I guess.

There are of course a good number of books, many articles online and numerous websites all claiming either access to or having themselves, restaurant secrets and copycats recipes for many favorite American restaurants. Whew, it sort of makes my head spin a bit, but in order to help me achieve this quest of mine it has been worth the effort. Many sites are recommending the same key original sources (recipe hackers) of the imitation or copycats recipes and in my experience this is usually a good hint as a reasonable place to start.

[operationrainfall]

We live in a world where job productivity and words per minute while typing on a keyboard go hand in hand. Simply spending some extra time writing up notes on a computer can help increase this skill, but why would anyone do that when games like Typing of the Dead exist? I recently had the chance to demo a title that borrows that same idea of typing words and phrases to attack enemies. The Textorcist: The Story of Ray Bibbia can best be summarized as a bullet-hell style shooter where players type religious passages and related phrases to exorcise demons and other unsavory characters. It also mixes in some elements found in adventure games. Keeping in mind that I’ve only played the demo, let’s discuss some of my key takeaways.

The story of The Textorcist revolves around a disgruntled former priest named Ray Bibbia. Let me just say that this man does not have time to waste on everyday street thugs. During the first few minutes of gameplay, a thief attempts to rob him at knifepoint. How does Ray choose to handle this? He uses a series of incantations to make the man explode from the inside out. He then follows this deed up with a cheeky remark and goes about his evening. As the demo continues to unfold, Ray performs a by the book exorcism and discovers that the church with which he used to associate may be turning a blind eye to a local slave trade. Despite being a bit of a questionable person himself, Ray won’t stand for this and sets off to learn more about this issue.

I feel that it’s best to address the most standout point of this game first- the gameplay. As mentioned above, this is a bullet-hell shooter that involves a great deal of typing. During fight (exorcism) sequences, you control Ray’s movements with your right hand using the arrow keys. That’s easier said than done though since you will also need to have your right hand available to type the text that appears on screen. Essentially, you’ll need to begin typing as fast as possible (while avoiding mistakes) and then pause to dodge enemy fire as it heads towards you. If it weren’t for the penalties associated with typing the wrong letters, simply typing and dodging is something that you can get used to after a while. However, whenever you type a letter incorrectly, you lose a bit of health and are required to type the preceding letter again as well. There’s also the added challenge of carrying around your spell book, which allows you to actually turn your words into projectiles. Whenever you take damage from enemy fire, you will first lose this spell book before taking damage. When you do inevitably lose it, you will need to chase it down as it flies to a random part of the screen. There is a timer wheel which displays above the book during all of this. If you manage to pick it up again before the wheel goes away, you can resume your incantation from the last letter that you typed. Picking it up after the wheel is gone means having to start the current passage all over again. As you can see, the developers put a great deal of thought into this, and that detail did not go unnoticed.

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Fighting mechanics aside, there are also periods of The Textorcist that feel more like an adventure game. Within Ray’s house, you can interact with almost any object by typing the prompted text displayed in front of it. You can also head to other locations within the game using some sort of futuristic transporter system that Ray has in his possession. While the demo doesn’t feature much of this adventure-oriented gameplay, the pieces that are there are pretty enjoyable and feature some really great dialogue from both Ray and the characters that he meets with. There are a number of great jokes sprinkled throughout as well. When accessing Ray’s computer, you’re required to interact with it using actual DOS commands, though he refers to the system as MS-DEUS. From there you can search on GODLE using any keyword that your heart desires. The game will generate a number of generic search results that substitute certain words with your keyword. I appreciated all of these details and hope to see even more of them in the official release.

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The art style is exactly what you’d expect of a 16/32-bit styled title. Everything looks crisp and there are a nice variety of colors in each location as well. The developers went for a rather dark, almost evil vibe for a lot of the locations, and that makes sense given the context of the story. Even the patterns formed by enemy projectiles were neat to look at. While I only had the chance to see the first few fights, official screenshots provided by the developer indicate that this remains true for the others as well, if not more so.

There were only a few music tracks present in the demo, but the ones that were there were quite enjoyable. For the most part, the soundtrack is comprised of tracks that make heavy use of both synth and bass. This is no surprise though as the soundtrack was created by the synthwave artist GosT. I actually had the chance to see him live in Chicago a few years back, and can vouch that he does some amazing work. The tracks that he’s created for The Textorcist are all very upbeat and all very dark. I feel like they would be right at home in a nightclub. They also pair really well with the fast-paced gameplay during boss fights. There are some less brisk songs mixed in too, like the one that plays while you’re inside Ray’s house. This track gave me a bit of a Luigi’s Mansion vibe if you can believe that. I can’t wait to hear what other tracks will be included with the full game.

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I wish that I had some better suggestions for the developers, but honestly I’d just recommend that they keep expanding on what they’ve presented so far. The demo itself was very short, totaling in at just over an hour of overall playtime. Having said that, I feel that an hour was more than enough time for me to form an initial opinion of this game. Its unique usage of typing during boss fights was done exceptionally well and each victory felt like it was something that I had earned. It’s a good thing the developers didn’t seem to encourage religion with this title, as I found myself cursing god more than ever during the fights. The full version of The Textorcist: The Story of Ray Bibbia will be available on Steam starting February 14, 2019. It was developed by Morbidware and is being published by Headup Games. If the quality of this demo is any indication of the final product, then I’m already sold.

A demo copy was provided by the publisher for review purposes.

IMPRESSIONS: The Textorcist: The Story of Ray Bibbia We live in a world where job productivity and words per minute while typing on a keyboard go hand in hand.

[sarahhaverfield-blog]

Tool For Writing Characterization Examinations.

In the 2nd article of a four-part set, you'll see the progress of bipolar II via the tale of Wendy, a teen which faced the problem. He believed to themselves that there appeared to be no limit to this man's riches, but he never gave an idea from being actually pretentious concerning his success. When you tag an individual pretentious you are actually stating that they are attempting to be actually something other than themselves; you are testing their very identity. A person along with grandiosity might seem to be outrageously egotistical, pretentious, or pretentious. I must likewise point out that although the first manual could appear to honor just what occurred, you truly must read through all 3 publications to find that this does not repaint a pleased photo and reveals why people shouldn't take the road that I took. There words is as a lot a word for what is unfamiliar as for what is actually untrue. There are many other phrases for people along with questionable preference that I wonder why our experts demand spotting up a flawlessly compliment with all kind of extra nuances. Listed here's a description from the video game Note, however, that the link may be a tad swayed from the activity and also its creators. And also tough though it might be to allow, being ostentatious belongs of exactly what our company do on a daily basis. Unhappy to differ thus emphatically however this kills me that this spoiled an activity that is actually otherwise therefore wonderful that this sets an entirely brand-new requirement. I hope that you'll adore me adequate to accomplish 1, 2, 3 and 4 when my ego avoids management. Which was actually accomplished for a 2 year time frame with me concerning HALF basics from the video game at the same time (you may certainly never actually get away from that) and which worked immensely (kind of) until the time her mommy and also I split. Many individuals have developed an undeviating pet eat canine" attitude regarding the world, throwing stability to the wind for improved personal increase. However, individuals along with bipolar II typically have severe anxieties which can produce dealing extremely tough. Often rich people make craft for other prosperous people, but that has held true for a lengthy time. It's still merely an art work from two folks with second best regarding it which your common halfway decent experienced painter nowadays (of which our company possess plenty in this day as well as grow older) could create as well as help make better. But past the task headlines, a considerable amount of designers discover as ostentatious in each of their foreign language. Nowadays aiming to oblige individuals to accept disturbance is merely going to turn all of them off much more. That individual's pretentious use of words conceals that they carry out certainly not possess just about anything important to point out. That is actually given that today (just like back then), folks misuse words pretentious" all the damn time. First idea that you are actually certainly not business owner component ... is if you are trying to find a fast or simple means to build wide range. The in activity narrative function of the island may be had as the literal purpose from the video game, if you want that to have one. And mistreating the word ostentatious" is most likely one of the best pompous traits an individual can possibly do. Many people are considerably also delicate concerning this feeling, and it is actually probably a virulency to have, but it is actually pretty hard to just make it go away. The chrysanthemum is among the absolute most immune cut flower and this will certainly decorate your residence for a number of years, greater than 2 full weeks. She commonly went to bed around 3 a.m. and also would certainly awaken at 7 a.m. emotion invigorated for her time at university. Despite which composed that, when even those folks adapted to buttoning their lip as well as debriefing if they cannot state just about anything pleasant believe you're full and thus ostentatious of amazing self-importance" that no person might be upset by them mentioning so ... you're certainly among the fine art world's arseholes de les arseholes. Below's a description from the activity Take note, however, that the hyperlink might be a little bit influenced from the video game and also its developers. And also challenging though it may be to take, being actually pompous is a part from exactly what our team perform each day. Sorry to disagree so undoubtedly but this eliminates me that this spoiled a game that is actually or else thus splendid that it prepares a completely brand new standard. I wish that you'll like me adequate to perform 1, 2, 3 and 4 when my pride leaves management. Saying regarding regulations, policies and wrong or even correct ways of performing factors is actually one method of talking about the amateur and the qualified; social groups that create pretentiousness an also knottier problem. The waitress gave them the largest laminated and very most complicated food selection Leo had ever observed then put 2 huge glasses of recently made iced herbal tea. They were established by women in the Heian period as well as are still looked at womanly by Eastern people. When you were suddenly greeted with collection puzzles, if the video game was based around stories at that point you 'd be actually ideal to expect additional tales and also right to be dissatisfied! When you have any issues with regards to where by as well as tips on how to use mountains in england to visit [click through the following internet site], you possibly can contact us from our webpage. It is likewise recommended to call Pretentious.install _ watcher beforehand to be capable to generate far better components. The 5th video game ends with Magenta claiming that she'll wait for Gray to become free of cost, so she might certainly not have actually divorced him besides. To propose a person is pompous is actually to claim they're behaving in ways they're not gotten approved for via encounter or economical condition". As the most effective care, reduced the stalk till the eco-friendly part, placed that in tall vase, packed just for 3 quarts along with water as well as include a decrease from bleaching material. You might pass the stalk by means of the fire or even leave it in steamed water for 30 seconds, after you cut the stalk 2 inches listed below completion. Yet some people don't like that. the only thing that things regarding infants as well as davinci is conjecture on your component. Yes, I think our company could all agree they are just one of the absolute most ostentatious points on earth. It attacked me the other day that there are actually heading to be actually a LOT of pompous, egoistic, lifestyle from father's loan and also possessing 4 A after being actually assembly-line pressed via some private school southerners at Uni. When that is actually coming to be extra and also more an available tip that folks don't like to view ads (if they truly ever carried out!), as well as this at an opportunity. The accuser of pretension - normally assuming on their own to be the genuine bargain, in property from a taught and also critical thoughts - strongly believes that in another place in the world there is actually a genuine article that the pompous trait or even individual aspires to be, however is actually falling short of or overemphasizing it. These are all very noticeable as well as weary opening techniques that most sharp prospects understand. That could work from time to time as well as gain you some benefits, yet generally this is actually an absurd, apparent game and as our experts both know, this does not work! Yet insurance claims to ordinariness and also salt-of-the-earth merit are on their own ostentatious.